


Of an Empire, a Purer Rule

by Alice_Marie



Series: Star Wars [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 63,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Marie/pseuds/Alice_Marie
Summary: Welcome back! :)The path has split. Please, if you have not read the beginning point for this story.... From the Ashes : https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228559/chapters/37935014Then... This will probably be confusing!Thank you for coming along, we hope you enjoy the journey!-Alice & Marie





	1. Chapter 1

"Are you kriffing kidding me?"

A deep inhale, a line of dirt colored powder disappearing as the surgeon drew back from the mirror. He sniffed, blinking his eyes blearily at his assistant, offering her a wide grin. His gums were bleeding, suggesting perhaps that he had taken to using Spice on his gums when snorting it left a few precious grams behind. A truly appalling habit but his hands at least had become steady. She swore, swiping his scalpel and throwing it into the sterilizing fluids. They would likely be executed if they were caught…

"On the job? Are you suicidal?" She hissed, punching his arm. He shrugged, turning to regard the woman floating in the bacta tank. His Spice habit was getting worse. Over the last several months the demands placed on not only this team but at least three other teams had been... Asking for the impossible. 

The Emperor had delivered them what was essentially a corpse and had demanded a miracle. It had pushed them to the brink of development and implementation of very advanced technology. Aside from being forced to violate their ethical code and place experimental tech in an unsuspecting human subject, it had pushed them to the limits of their own physical capabilities. Round the clock discussions and theory crafting on how they could reattach what had been severed, how they could replace what was damaged... Their minds and their bodies were taxed well beyond the realm of what was technically considered 'safe'.

"Give me regular reports! I want this operational before the year is out!" The surgeon mimicked the Emperor's stern tones. 

His associate cast a paranoid glance around their surrounds, drawing a deep breath. It was hard to know who was listening. Who was feeding reports to whom. Thankfully, they appeared to be alone. For the moment, at least. It seemed the fastest way to climb the ladder of success now was to rather ruthlessly kick your fellow man or woman down to the bottom rungs without any care for their survival. Executions weren't so uncommon now. The human face their last Supreme Leader had tried to instate was all but expunged. There were those who were happy to manipulate their reports, framing fellow First Order compatriots of treasonous or seditious acts. No single division was safe.

"Shut up!" She whispered, backing away from him as if she could put distance between herself and his growing sense of dissatisfaction with his work. A dangerous thing. Insubordinate words that would paint his entire team with the same brand of disloyalty. She did not want to be publicly executed for the sake of 'sending a message'.

Again he offered a shrug, his eyes were rimmed red, dark bags under his pale eyes. When was the last time he'd slept? A pointless question. None of them had really had much sleep the last several months. Teams switching in and out - often mid procedure. Grafting, transplanting, implanting. They'd become a tight knight squadron - their thoughts of the utter... Insanity of this whole project were mutual. Spoken with their expressions, the knowing catching of glances across the room - but never in words. That was... Too dangerous.

"She'll be ready soon, you know." He crossed his arms, looking up at the pale skinned girl in the tank. Her hair floating above her head like a dark crown. Or perhaps, he mused, it was her spirit trying to escape her body. Straining at the less fragile bindings of her flesh.

"You think so?" She sounded awed, looking up at the slender form in the tank. The nutrient tube shoved down her throat, the mask sealed over her mouth, her nose... They'd managed to keep her from becoming skeletal. Electrode stimulation had ensured her muscles had not been atrophied. The hardest part had been reconstructing the metal vertebrae that now made up her lower spine. Fast thinking from the slain trooper with the med-foam had helped preserve nerve endings. Bacta was a miraculous substance - and in a short time they would see if their attempts to give her full mobility were successful. It was terrifying. Exhilarating.

He shrugged, looking down at the time piece strapped to his wrist. "Sure. Just gotta press a button, right? That's what's expected of us." Clicking his tongue, he turned away, pressing the button to begin draining the tank. They'd done everything that they could.

They watched the draining fluids bringing her closer and closer to the bottom of the tank. The bacta was too precious to waste. It was being channeled away for storage. It couldn't be purified or its healing qualities would be lost. It would have to be stored until the next time they were called upon to do the impossible. Though, none of them wanted to do anything like this ever again. The assistant moved to the comms unit - summoning the other teams.

It was a nightmare of a task, getting her body out of the tank - the feed tube disconnected. The waste management system they'd instated had to be removed. It would be some time before her skin returned to normal - pale from the lack of natural light and sodden with liquid. One thing that was likely to never be restored entirely - the sunburst of scar tissue on her lower back. They laid her out on the operating table, carefully draping bandages over her sensitive areas, draping a sheet over her body. They tended her hair, drying her as well as they could manage. One of the women brought in a small handful of cosmetics, trying to apply a dab of color on her lips, a smooth of pigment over her cheekbones - an attempt to make her look less like a corpse.

"Call him." Their team leader said, staring down at the woman. It was hard to let her go. She'd been their sole focus for so many months now... It must be the wonder of becoming a mother, he seemed amused at the thought. Ushering this human into the realm of the living after so many months of recreating her.

All that was left was to remove the last needle from her arm, the one attached to the unit that was strapped to her - feeding the drugs into her system that had kept her sedated in a state of coma. They were all nervous, unsure how it would go. Reviving her at last. Would there be mental deterioration? Would their efforts have been in vain? Their biggest fear was waking her up only to have her being a broken doll. Blinking unseeing eyes, legs that could move but not hold her weight... Their lives were all on the line. They assembled around her, waiting for their Emperor to attend, to give the final order to have her awakened.

 

~

 

There was a building danger that came with success. Rey had shot that message straight through him, and so he had to give her his reply by the same means, though resulting in... different ends. With every threat that rose with his success, Hux made a vow to stamp it out. To smother any sparks and embers before they could catch, before a flame could set that would burn across the entire Order. The disease was still there, Hux could feel it. He would not sleep. Despite living in luxury, despite his job to oversee, devise and instruct rather than having to work quite so hard with the officers himself, he would not allow his eyes to close, for as long as he might manage. 

The First Order had known he was a man, a boy once, just like every one of them. He had never worn a monstrous mask, he was not withered by dark wizardry, he was not hideously deformed so as to strike fear into the hearts of others, and he did not tower above all of them in height either. It had served him well previously, motivating the armoured suits and uniforms knowing that they were all as he was; a human being. Nonetheless, such a thing could no longer serve its purpose in the same way again. It was time to become more than them. Better than them. A higher power, as Snoke was. If he was to rule the First Order, the galaxy would not only have to know his name, but they would have to fear it, respect it and worship it. Hux would have to write it in blood, even without a war.

His starting move in this intricate game was most definitely a step in the right direction. No one had dared to even question him on what he had suffered while being kept captive unless he brought up the subject himself, for fear that they would insult his pride or inspire his anger.

He couldn't help but be curious as to what part the stormtrooper had played who had foolishly stepped out of line to help her, even daring to pull away his helmet. On further investigation, he was informed that he had been in her squadron. A friend, then? Friends in the First Order, rather than comrades and allies and soldiers? What had truly become of them? Hux had stared at him, between a state of amazement and disbelief. Hux wasn't just amazed by his intervention. He wouldn't admit it, but it was with some disbelief and horrible wonder that he realised he might have finally killed the girl. His fixation. His project... a pile of flesh, a pool of blood. Then, the word. The word that cut across the crowd like a laser, across every waiting ear before hitting his own with sharp and ugly remembrance.

_ YOU BASTARD! _

Bastard... That was more than enough to draw him back to where he was. To who he was and who had insulted him. A soldier. One who should serve his every need without question. His thought was turned to Kylo's words.

_ They're obviously skilled at committing high treason... _

Not from that point onward.

He would not be insulted again... Nor was his aim amiss for the third time that he would fire in that hour. If half the Order had come to her aid, if body after body came between Hux and his right, his purpose, then he would slaughter all of them then and there, one by one with nothing but the blaster and, if he had to, his bare and bloodied hands!

How many more traitors and fools lived amongst them?! How many would need to be purged to make his new Empire clean?!

The least he could begin with was to spill his treacherous blood there and then for all of them to see. His icy eyes scanned over the rest of the crowd in challenge. None moved. Hux swiftly pronounced his thoughts aloud, making clear the heavy price of empathy and treason. The trooper's blood had mixed with Rey's. It wet the soles of Hux's boots as he watched the trooper be loaded into a body bag and Rey onto a stretcher. She would not escape his notice. He would wage a war on her death and win her once more.

He would later ask himself why. Was he truly so desperate? Could he not find meaning without a struggle? Without sweet, reckless company? Like the rest of the Order without war. Lost, searching... Unsatisfied. He was hungry ever since. He longed to find a way to fill his peculiarly growing need for some passion, some thrill, some excitement amongst the cold and clinical walls that were his natural home.

He needed... Ren.

A symbol of fear to serve his every will. Snoke had taken pains to keep Kylo for a purpose. Hux's ambitions for Rey were not lost. He needed only to be patient once more, and cold. Colder than the death that threatened to take her away.

It was as his thoughts passed to Kylo that he noticed he had come to his waiting bedroom door. Had he the time?

If he waited any longer, would he ever be able to find the proof? The true answers to the riddle?

He wasn't sure exactly what made him pause in the doorway, as if Kylo still inhabited that room and he would soon fly from its boundaries in a vicious, trembling fury, throwing Hux to the wall with that blood on his hands.

Hux shook away the memory. He slipped inside. It was dim. The stars, the very galaxy, laid before him from a window. The bed hurriedly made. Subtleties revealing him to be lacking in the control and order that Hux possessed. Hux began to trace his way around the details, the empty corners. He drew open the panels, finding the robes, the tunics, the capes, clean and ghostly, as if the man himself were somehow hidden within their shadows. Hux couldn't refrain from taking in a breath, taking in the familiarity of his scent...

No. He pulled away. He didn't miss him. That would be absurd! Ridiculous! Suddenly angered for an indescribable reason, Hux stepped back, his cheeks heated. He was about to turn away when a metallic glint caught his eye. In a heartbeat, his hungry, gloved fingers dived towards its buried shape. He drew it from the hanging garments and stared.

A lightsaber?

Hux ignited the beam.

Blue? Why... How could Kylo be in possession of... ?

Was this his grandfather's? Rey had wielded such a lightsaber. The two on Vorkenna. In the elevator...

Hux disengaged the electric blue beam, his fingers lost their grip on the handle. It clattered on the floor. The sound seemed to echo like a dying scream in his ears, his mind. Something pulled him to the bed. He threw back the sheets, no longer taking so much care, he crawled upon the mattress, reaching for the pillows...

A pale brown hair.

Hux pulled it from the fabric. He held it to the light. Not a single hair on Kylo's head was anything other than jet-black. The look in that man's burning eyes... The first push from his doorway with a bloodied hand. The same push and scowl he received when Kylo emerged from the elevator. The girl from the cells. A disguised stormtrooper. The fight with her squadron leader. Kylo's unexplained injury. Her hair on his pillow. Her lightsaber in his draw. The way Kylo eyed Vysera's dance with Rey. His ferocity. Vysera's grin. Her proximity to Kylo. Her harm done to Rey. Rey's scream:

_ VYSERA! _

Her muttering in her sleep. The girl, and not the map, was all he needed... The death of Snoke. Kylo's insistance to bring that squadron onboard in the first place. His reluctance to let Hux on the mission to Jira. When both him and Kylo arrived outside the gym. A lack of explanation. Tongue-tied.

The pieces tumbled together. Evidence on top of evidence. Words and looks and his hiding...his desperate rages.

Hux fell from the bed, landing on his knees. A low chuckle sounded from his throat.

No... No, he must, he simply MUST have miscalculated! he had never miscalculated one of his equations and yet... HOW?! They were enemies! She scarred him. She humiliated him. She made him a damn fool!

She had humiliated Hux too.

Hux gasped. He pressed his palms into the floor. A dreadful, painful joy set his heart speeding. How long? How long did they...

Hux snarled. He ripped himself from the ground. He tore the bed apart, throwing the bed sheets across the room. He was laughing. It was anything but funny. No. NO! Damn then both! He slammed his fists upon the mattress as his laughter turned to roaring shrieks.

LIAR! TRAITOR!

That semi-devil, that teasing demon, that shadow, that BEAST! No nobler than his lying, thieving, filthy father! No less a traitor than FN-2187! and yet he would throw his hypocrisy, his insults, his relentless aggression upon his General and the rest of the Order?! While he reigned as Supreme Leader?! Hux's foolish, foolish belief that they had shared goals. That any shred of a lingering glance or touch, all of it, all of it lies! The same for Rey's tender looks and soft trickery. A double deceit! The nerve! The very THOUGHT!

Had their limbs entangled in this bed?! Had her piercing disease, her spell concealed behind wide hazel eyes, her pretty witchcraft and full, pastel lips taken over Ren first?! Or was he the one to fool her the with his elegant movements, the passion of his eyes, the disguise, the regal, spoiled tilt of his strong jaw?! Was there no end?! No end to this sickness, this joke?!

Hux's stomach churned. He felt as if a poison had been poured down his throat, gnawing his insides. His teeth ground in scarlet, trembling insanity. This time, Hux would be the one to cause wreckage for someone else to fix. He would lose his temper and he would not be stopped. He screamed until his throat grew sore. He hoped Kylo was dead. He hoped he was lying, bleeding, in some long agony, in the dust of some empty, abandoned planet. A death belonging to rebel scum rather than any King.

If only Rey had killed him. Hux's lips turned upward at the mere thought. It soothed his burning blood with the pleasure of the idea of them tearing each other open...

Hux paused. Someone was standing in the open doorway. A white coat. A... Doctor?

Instantly, Hux raised himself from the ground. He scowled. A message to the waiting woman that her tongue would be cut from her mouth if she spoke of whatever she had seen or heard. Hux's hands were tight fists. The fists... His rage... No. He was not Kylo. He was NOT REN.

"S-she's ready."

Hux licked his lips. His mind cooled. He realised... His excitement rose. What fun... What fun! Oh how might he use this new knowledge?! What would he do? No. He must keep it secret. His logic threatened to be drowned by savagery. Patience, he remembered. Priorities. Besides, he found Ren to dominate his anger more than she did. At least he knew her conniving ways. At least she was SUPPOSED to hate him. Hux wanted her, and she would be his... His forever.

A dark grin stretched his hardened features.

"Excellent." He murmured. There was venom in his voice. "Now... You are to do exactly what I demand..."


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Agata Minsk knew when to keep her mouth shut. It was a discretion that could not easily be taught, a great deal of such sensibilities had to be inborn. A product of nature and nurture - a delicate balance. Just as she and the others had seen how prudent it was to avoid mentioning the fact that they'd nearly lost the Emperor's project twice. That their patient's heart had ceased on two separate occasions, that her breathing had stopped. Nobody had wanted to face his wrath for losing something he had invested.... Quite frankly, obscene amounts of credits and countless hours of manpower.

She saw the merit in keeping the Emperor's outbreak, the things she had witnessed when she opened the door and saw him obliterating the old Supreme Leader's personal quarters, to herself. They would haunt her, later. Knowing that he, for all his efforts to play the part of cold and calculating was just as beastly as those who walked this path before him. Perhaps, even moreso. It did not escape her sphere of comprehension that her prudence might not be enough. With his irrational outbreaks, had paranoia also flourished? Would she be pulled from her room in the dead of night to face execution? A fate where her absence would be noted but none would question it, nor would be mourned. What existence was theirs who shared the shackles of belonging to the First Order? Matters to muse over a bottle of whiskey when her time was her own, she supposed.

‘Excellent. Now... You are to do exactly what I demand…’

She felt filthy. Awkward and extremely uncomfortable, carrying the white carton of attire that had been given to her. The sound of her progress down the hall echoed loudly, sensible heels clicking on the smooth floors. She felt as though it was a signal fire. She tried to ignore the feeling of eyes trailing her, the stormtroopers at their guard postings watching her. It was explained in great detail, the orders she was to pass along to the kitchen staff as well as the rest of the medical team. Emperor Hux's penchant for theatrics was certainly no lesser for his elevated position. Yet no longer were they simply inspiring as they had been upon the Starkiller Base. No longer were they so impassioned that they bordered on the realms of the absurd. Now... She swallowed hard, readjusting her grip on the box. Now, they were sinister. Vaguely threatening and completely terrifying.

His orders replayed in her mind as she made her way back to the lab. A part of her almost wished that when they at last removed the sedating drugs that the woman would simply... Never wake up. Not truly. They had restored her body, but she found herself hoping her mind had vanished during one of the times when her life had briefly escaped their desperate reaches. While Dr. Agata didn't know exactly what the Emperor's intentions were for her upon her awakening... She knew the manner in which he wanted it to play out and it filled her with a deepening sense of dread.

The desire for her mental death vanished when she saw the assembled medical team. Fifteen souls all bound here in this hellish cruiser along with herself. This floating city of deranged dominion. Her moment of selflessness had passed. She could not wish these brilliant minds doomed to save one woman from what she could only speculate upon. It was easier to forget that the project was human when her pale form was before her. She had ceased being a living creature to them a long time ago. They had no name for her. Her significance was... Nil, as far as they knew. A bizarre obsession of the Emperor that he had taken aboard after disappearing mysteriously. Rumors had suggested he had been abducted. That perhaps this project had been tied to those events.

"He isn't coming." She said, setting the box down. She motioned for the communicator to be brought to her so she could relay the task of preparing a nightmare of a meal in the private dining chambers. The rest of the team could only listen and watch her with raised brows.

"Sounds more like a last meal..." One of them mused. Dr. Minsk could only nod. She had similar thoughts of her own. She shook her head - trusting the crew to attend to the meticulous setting that Hux had demanded.

"Dr. Harrol and I will attend the rest. I suppose... You are all dismissed, pending Dr. Harrol's final address." She stood to the side, letting their project leader step forward. He was no less inspirational now that the project was coming to a close as he had been when he had addressed them all with legitimate concern at the beginning of the project. They had done the impossible. But for what reasons? He did not ask the question. He didn't need to, they were already silently pondering the fate of the woman on the table. He thanked them all, dismissing them. It left him staring at Minsk with a small frown.

He sighed, moving to the box, slicing it open. They stood, mute with horror painted on their features for several minutes.

"This feels..." He reached hesitantly for the frothy folds of dark material.

"Perverse." Dr. Agata finished the sentence for him. "Do you have any...."

"Spice?" Bewildered amusement. But no accusation.

"Yeah." Defeat.

She took a solid line of the drug. It made it easier to pull the dress from the box - a delicate creation that did not match the hues of the gown. A veil... Neither one spoke. They had become so desensitized to the concept of her being a living human being that they paid no heed to her nude form as they cleaned her, wrangled her limp form to dress it in the attire that must surely have been premeditated for quite some time. They combed and dried her hair, settling her finely swathed form into a wheelchair with some degree of difficulty. Finally, they settled the veil over her face.

"This is wrong." Dr. Harrol muttered as they stepped back to review their task - ensuring that the criteria matched the orders given. It felt as though they had just desecrated a corpse. They should have let her die... They looked at each other. A single thought birthed in two minds. They still could... At this stage, it would be only two of them who would likely bear the brunt of the punishment. With their lives, most likely. Two lives. Her two lives that they had stolen back from the hands of Death. There would have to be a price. Death was an exacting master of all.

Dr. Agata's fingers slipped to the small device strapped to the woman's arm, the one regulating the dosage. She only had to turn the dial. Feed more of that bright green fluid into her veins and she would slip away. She drew a deep breath, but Harrol's hand settled over her own, settling her palm against the woman's clammy flesh, stilling the motion of her fingers. He shook his head. Was it their pride? Having done the impossible - the need to see it to its conclusion? She doubted any of them could pretend they had any sort of... Ethical ground to stand on anymore.

~

They took the back passages. Wheeling her down empty corridors. They were mortified. As if each step brought them all that much closer to damnation. They hadn't spoken another word to one another. Their speculation of the woman's fate continued in their minds but it was too dangerous to give them life upon their lips.

Surely if it was for some sort of carnal desire, the Emperor could have found a much... Less expensive option. There would be plenty of women and men who would willing service him if he demanded it. Power was an intoxicating aphrodisiac. Yet, as far as anyone was aware - he was just as monkishly celibate as was the rule for the rest of them. So, they told themselves, this had to be more than that. They prayed that the fruit of their labor would yield more... And yet. She was dressed up exquisitely so there was a chance that she might hold an appeal for their deranged Emperor. The time for questions had passed. They were consigned to their fate and now... So was she. Whatever it was.

They arrived at the private dining chamber. It had been transformed just as Hux had demanded. Soft glow of real flame - genuine candles. A rarity. Yet he had spared no expense thus far, it ought not to have been a surprise to them. Real, growing foliage adorned a centerpiece. The table had been set for a grand occasion - fit for feasting. Thankfully, Hux had not arrived. They shifted her awkwardly from the wheelchair into the proper seat. After a little fussing, they found an angle that kept her upright.

It was only after the sounds of their efforts had silenced that they heard the soft music playing in the background. He had an eye for detail, a taste for theatrics... This latest showing did nothing to change their opinion.

Dr. Harrol looked at the slender figure. He could not decide whether she looked like a corpse or a bride. They settled her cool, pale fingers on the arms of the chair. He drew a short breath, glancing up at Dr. Minsk who could only watch as he turned the measuring device off. He pulled the needle from her arm - a long, thick thing that had kept her from being aware of her nightmarish existence for so many months.... He straightened, taking Dr. Minsk's arm and they made to exit. A progression that was abruptly halted as the Emperor's figure filled the doorway.

Dr. Agata raised her hand, all fingers splayed to signify that there would be at least five minutes before her system could process the fact that she was no longer sedated. They slipped by him, offering final salutes before disappearing down the hallway. Something obscenely morbid in her own nature almost wanted to stay behind... To see what would happen when she awakened. But that was not for their eyes. Hux had expressed his intention for their reunion to be... Private. She supposed they would soon discover whether they had been successful or not by whether the next time they saw him they would be addressed with a few curt words of praise or by blaster fire.

~

Junk traders spoke of an afterlife. To pass time, usually, while they worked long hours in the burning sun and they tried to clean their haul and make it look more valuable. Anything to make the passing of time a little easier to bear. They told tales of an afterlife where judgment was passed for all those who had never been caught for their wrong doings in life. A place where their sentence had no terms, no end date. An endless existence of torment and suffering. A place as hot as the burning heart of the sun. A savage place they condemned all who had done wrongly by them. For her, it had was usually Plutt, as if imagining him in eternal suffering later would make up for the way he had continually ripped her off.

It was there that Rey thought she had found herself. Her body felt like it was on fire. Sensation coming to life in heavy limbs. She sucked breath into her lungs, coughing violently shortly after, as though her body no longer recalled what it was to function. She felt like she was choking, a phantom of something caught in her throat - saliva filling her mouth too rapidly and a tongue and throat that did not seem to understand what to do with it. Everything... Hurt. Though to put it so was to do the agony a disservice. It was all encompassing. It consumed her - leaving her bereft of all perception but for the pain that devoured her.

Several minutes passed. To the outside, her agonizing process was probably more akin to birth. More aptly, a rebirth. Gasping, choking... Nearly sobbing were it not for the fact that her body didn't seem to remember how. But for her.... It held all the terror of death. It took a long while for her to realize that the world was not quite so dark and hazy as she suspected. A veil had been placed before her face, making it a great deal more difficult to breathe. Its weight felt suffocating. She tried to lift her hands to remove it. They did not obey. She was trapped! In this burning body! She had died, after all. It was the only explanation. For nothing in life could possibly match this unbearable agony. No. This must surely be damnation. For the lives she took. For those she failed and had left behind...

It was some long moments as her body finally seemed to stop the feverish burn and simmer down to the smouldering of hot coals. It was then that her body could begin to interpret the sensation of drowning. Her eyes dropped to her lap, the slender crescent of clear view beneath the veil. The material on her body was but a wisp. A dark hued corruption of a time when she had worn something so delicate on Vorkenna. Yet in spite of what her eyes told her, the soft fabric felt abrasive on her skin - she felt open and raw, yet she could discern no wounds on her arms but for the small beading of something crimson on the inside of her elbow. For the life of her, her brain could not connect meaning to what her eyes were seeing, leaving her bewildered and deeply unsettled.

The dress was heavy, clinging to her legs like thick cobwebs. She managed to move her hand, only for it to fall from the arm rest to her lap. Limp and resisting to her will. How strange... To recognize one's hand, one's body and yet for it to feel so entirely alien as though she inhabited the body of a stranger. Her real body was light, fleet. Nimble. Efficient. Strong. This one... It was sluggish, heavy... So bloated on sensation that she was almost beginning to feel numb.

A pair of hands appeared before her eyes - summoning a startled, mangled noise from her. She had thought herself to be alone in this hellish nightmare. Her brittle heart clattered in her hollow chest. She wished she could turn her head, could see who they were connected to, clad in black leather. One creature hidden within the flesh of another. Exactly as she now felt. It took her a moment to realize that she recognized the lines of stitching on the leather, however. Surely, it was impossible... Ben could never be in a place such as this. If this was punishment... A sharp intake of breath - no! Force, NO! Please don't let him have followed her HERE of all places!!! As much as she longed to be with him, to see him again... She tried to lean into his touch, however, but his hands had withdrawn, settling the veil back and disappeared from her sight. Her head had barely moved.

With the veil lifted back, it suddenly felt as though she could breathe. Were it not for the trailing sensation of cool leather drawing back down the sides of her neck as the material settled into place. A sensation so light that it sent a fine tremor down her body- a gentle teasing touch as he had gifted her in the privacy of that elevator. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks. It was then that her senses sharpened, the lingering impression now stung. Painfully stinging her overly sensitive flesh. She hissed with the eruption of discomfort, a new crushing sensation of far too much stimulus threatened to bury her.

The newfound clarity was enough to register the soft notes of music playing - the likes of which she had never heard before. It was tempting to want to enjoy the sound. To try embrace that which was new to her. She took a deep breath. Something caught in her nose. A scent that was... Familiar. It had to be him! She knew the smell - she'd used that exact soap when she'd stolen a few precious moments in his shower! Yet, if this was the end of all things, the final judgment - surely she would not be permitted a moment of reprieve... A figure moved into view. Tall, stately... She could only stare at his back as he moved from her, approaching the empty seat across the table from her. Her eyes widened, a twisting feeling in her gut. Something perishing that she could not put into words. There was no mistaking the gleaming white of his clothing, the flame of his hair. It was not Ben after all. She hadn't thought herself capable of feeling anymore misery, yet here it was.

Had she killed him, too? Was that why he was here? The warden of her soul wearing the flesh of one that she had failed. She had given up on him, after all, hadn't she? Hadn't she been ready to let him suffer condemnation for becoming exactly what his father had shaped him to be? Would those whose lives she had reaped unjustly for Death before their rightful harvest join her here in time? Did that mean that CS-9874 would appear? The others, too? Her eyes burned, she tried to look around but her neck did not seem to wish to obey her, only her eyes moved about her limited scope of vision. It was with some relief that she did not see the mangled remains of the squadron leaders looming over the shoulders of Hux as he settled himself into the chair. It wasn't until she blinked, her lids falling closed that she saw the splatter of blood, brain, and bone on the back wall with the smattering of hair clinging to the gore, the weight of the blaster in her hands... She felt ill, forcing her eyes open once again.

She had to focus on something else, her mind was unravelling - unable to comprehend, to explain, to accept. Her eyes fell to the table between them. Under other circumstances, she might have delighted in the sight before her - a table so elegantly prepared. It spoke of the promise of food. Did the dead eat? She almost chided herself - ridiculous!

"I..." A hoarse whisper, a broken voice of a body that had had no use for such things for so long. She didn't recognize the sounds coming from her lips. "Didn't know the dead could dream." Her brow furrowed in bewilderment. Why, oh why could she not remember what had happened? She'd been in Vorkenna... The Capitol building... She looked up at Hux, her expression was hopelessly lost. Caught helplessly in the fog of pain, crushed in the grip of a nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

He felt her begin to stir. The softest, uneven, struggling, breaths. Barely breathing. Yet still, he had been informed it was time. He reached over, Kylo's gloves adorning his hands. He pictured them along the landscape of her shoulders and followed the lines of those thoughts as he pulled back her silken veil with care. She hissed in a whisper nonetheless. Did it hurt? His touch lingered. He gazed longingly at her seated form. The candlelight danced over the lines of her dress, the strands of her hair, the flesh of the back of her neck, partially obscured. He would never make the same mistakes. He drew away, coming to the other side of the table, the benign, twinkling music guiding his way. He tried not to put any shrieking friction between the chair and the floor as he took the seat in front of her.

The dim life in her delicate eyes began to flicker from one object to another. Searching? Absorbing it all? No, trapped, fearing. A caged creature. All as it had been once before. All as it should be, except... Her fierceness, her colour had faded, like the raging scarlet light of dawn falling into the feeble, pale light of the moon. 

He took pleasure from her eyes. He took pleasure from her weakened state, which he was certain wouldn't harm him, though he would not draw his eyes from her. New clay in his hands, the hands of an artist. Yet the process of molding would take far longer and with many more... Precautions.

He knew already from her immediate bewilderment that she had expected Ren. That she knew him so well that she could recognise his gloves, his fresh dew and timber scent. Hux had spent far too long in Kylo's chamber. He had searched for further intricacies and clues as he entered the shower. Another hair on the plug. Hux had watched it slip down the drain and out of view. Kylo's different soaps... Hux took up the one most used and he inhaled, savoured that dark, perilous, velvet, familiarity, letting it flow over his hair, his neck, his chest and legs with the caress of running water. 

Every other time he had been close enough to smell this, he had learned not to tremble, not to wince, despite his heart's deafening, disjointed rhythm. Almost every time Hux could smell him, Ren was close to throttling the life out of him, or leaning close enough to breathe down his neck, to send shivers along his spine. His large form, heavy breathing... The dark beast that would not be trained. Only yielding to Snoke before his death and... And the girl. Hux swallowed down whatever it was that stung and swelled within his chest. He had never felt so... Bitter.

_ ‘I…’ _

Her first word was barely audible. It was raw. Hux blinked, bringing himself back to her. To the laid table that she had longingly watched. She must be starved. Hux grit his teeth. He would feel no sorrow for her. He remembered her giving him the food, food instead of torture... No! It- It didn't matter! She would soon be fed after all. Confusion crumpled her expression. An entire planet of emotions. Hux couldn't possibly comprehend them all. He nevertheless considered her broken state to be genuine, though he would never allow himself to trust fully again after being fooled.

_ ‘Didn't know the dead could dream.’ _

Hux gazed at her, realising that she was watching him with a look that was desperate and adrift in equal measure. She thought... She really believed... Hux resisted a knowing sigh or chuckle. How might he weave a web appropriate for such a fly? If she believed it to be a dream within death then what did it make him? Her deliverer to death? Some cruel devil? Some righteous angel? Did she remember the truth? Her blank expression was clueless. Surely she did not remember.

Nevertheless, he thought it best to coax the answers from her as carefully as the doctors might have worked upon her. If he were to inflict further damage than what he had already planned, his signal to do so would come from the strength of her reactions, or if he simply could not resist.

"We have both suffered much from living." Hux began cautiously, slyly. His soft tone matched the classical notes of their dated surroundings. Old, like Vorkenna. Smaller, intimate, only one room, yet just as grandly designed.

"Perhaps you're here for a reason." He expanded. "Perhaps you have waited for this moment, as I have."

He wasn't lying. Not directly. Why she had been ready to wake, why she had not been lost to death... Could it be a need to live and return? Was this not better? Was it not time?

Regardless of her reaction, he had waited long enough. His hunger at seeing her living once again was insatiable. His desires were laid perfectly before him. First he would treat her and himself to what could at least settle his physical and literal hunger.

"If the dead can dream, then the dead might as well enjoy any other pleasurable sensations that might present themselves, wouldn't you agree?"

A snap of his fingers, and the food was carried in, not by guards, certainly not by troopers. Veiled kitchen servers, veiled in black from head to foot, their faces obscured. The dinner platters covered with lids of glistening silver. Champagne from Vorkenna flowed fast into the empty, diamond-like glasses. They came and left as quickly as shadows. All as if it could be created from her fractured mind. Hux could not have planned it better.

He was aware of where his shot had hit Rey. The doctors had continuously updated him on her progress as he had demanded. He was cruel... Cruel to do this, and yet, his satisfaction bloomed. A grotesque, red flower of an inner wound he would inflict. Could she feel it yet? Her new spine?

He thought no more. He eagerly pried the lid from the dish to reveal the roasted and seasoned bird. Golden brown, slick and tender, the arching bumps of the exposed spine even visible from a quick and simple glance, rising like a hill from the platter. Its thick flesh appealed to him instantly. He found an accompanying carving knife and sharpened it, relishing its metallic ringing, its malicious gleam. If Kylo only knew how he had and would continue to both ravage and perhaps later ravish his fierce and yet delicate lover...

Another thought of Ren made him steam with all the heat of vengeance. He plunged the blade into the breast and tore it apart, placing a serving on her plate first. Once he had additionally served himself, he found a peculiar conflict emerging between the immaculate manners he had learned and his brimming fury and excitement. The utensils shook in his hands. He watched her lips as he drew away mouthful after mouthful from the spine, devouring what he could with obvious greed, despite his efforts to remain somewhat refined. He thought of Ren devouring her flesh. Did he feel this same greed, this torture, this sickening longing?

Hux split the spine itself with his knife and paused. His appetite was gone in seconds. He swallowed. His throat had swelled for a reason he could not understand. He bit his own tongue. He knew this. This was empathy. This was sorrow. This was... guilt? No. No regrets! Would his joy and anticipation be lost to foolishness so soon?! Would he be bewitched by her spells even without a single move?! How could he be so weak?! So useless already...

Hux took his glass in hand and gulped down the entirety of its contents before his arm involuntarily seemed to launch straight to the bottle. He couldn't care. She had already seen his lack of discretion before, but would she remember? He lifted it to his lips, the neck firm in his steel grasp before thudding it back on the table, breaking the peace of the musical accompaniment.

"Let's go back in time." Hux murmured softly, more heavily than he had intended. He has everything he wanted. So why? Why was he unhappy? Why was he so angry? "Before death. Before ruin. Before blood."

He looked her up and down. He... He had missed her. Dearly.

"To a time when I asked a beautiful woman to dance with me and I found her in the elevator. Next to Kylo Ren."

He knew it was bold. He merely wanted to say his name, if only to intensely observe her reaction to it. He was also so tired of the Supreme Leader title. Ren was never, should never have possessed such a title and Hux no longer would be compelled to call him by it.

"I never got to dance with her..." Hux continued numbly, his eyes locked on hers, refusing to move to watch anything else. "But as a man of my word, I will not be denied." Hux vowed, standing from the table.

As he stood, the music grew a touch louder as he had requested. He came to her side but was aware that she might not entirely be able to stand up on her own yet. Her body was lighter than he expected as he took her by the underarms, no longer considering, watching or listening to her discomfort. He gripped her wrist with one hand as he remembered Vysera has done. Now he knew the reason. Did he not have a similar reason himself? His other arm came around where he believed her spine was weakest, his hand on her slender waist, he held her close like a child grasping their favourite doll. Then, he pulled her away from the table and into familiar steps.

~

_ ‘We have both suffered much from living.’ _

She could not disagree. Poignant words that helped to centre her, catch her scattering thoughts and chain them here. She closed her eyes, a pained expression as her head tilted down. The sound of a child screaming, begging his father... _ Sir!  _ She drew a shuddering breath.The breaking of bone under the heavy gaze of his own flesh and blood. Her own soul crushing isolation... Desperate for touch, for comfort - even simply to speak to someone who cared whether she survived one sun-dried, sand blasted day or the next! The memory of her own childlike self crying alone in the night filled her mind. Had they shared these nights, separated by the vastness of space, each with tears brimming on eyes and only the sound of their own sobs as a lullaby to take them into the realm of sleep? Or had that little boy already been long since slain before she had been drawn into existence?

She could barely lift her hand, to wipe away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. The movement ached - sending off a wave of pain to a source she could not quite distinguish. Her body was a mass of agony, it was difficult to differentiate one ache amongst the rest. She let her hand fall back to her lap. Did it matter any more? What use was there in pretending to be strong? Surely in death, one needn't pretend to be what they weren't... The next tear was left unheeded as it rolled down the smooth pane of her cheek, clinging to the line of her jaw for a long moment before slipping away, falling to her chest, leaving a trail of a mercifully cooling sensation before rolling down to meet the soft fabric of her dress.

_ ‘Perhaps you're here for a reason. Perhaps you have waited for this moment, as I have.’ _

Was this what they had waited for? Death? Under that burning, insatiable need to live... To breathe... To survive... Had they shared that same aching longing for death? A slip into the abyss, so far from the reach of pain? To feel, to be - nothing. She couldn't bring herself to answer him. Ashamed of her own weakness. Like the promise of the fantasy of family... It seemed her fantasy of death had been equally misguided. Naïve... Childish... Fool. She had never been able to escape these failings in life, it made sense that they would follow her here.

She watched him for a long moment, a myriad of emotions playing across her features. Pain. Regret. Sorrow... If the dead dreamt... Surely then, this was his. For if it had been her dream, she was quite certain she would have found herself wrapped in Ben's tender arms. If dreams were truly the manifestation of what one's heart craved in earnest - it would have been Ben sitting across from her. Not simply... Essences of his being. The thought made her uncomfortable - following that logic, she could discern no possible reason why she would appear in the mind of a dead man who had loathed her. Her brow furrowed. The look in his eyes.... When their gaze had met... She was bewildered once more - her mind trying to piece together fragments.

_ ‘If the dead can dream, then the dead might as well enjoy any other pleasurable sensations that might present themselves, wouldn't you agree?’ _

She lifted her eyes to settle upon him. Her eyes settled on his raised hand. That glove... Did not belong to him! Did it matter, anymore? Something in her chest throbbed with profound assurance that it most certainly did. He snapped his fingers before her distraught mind could thread together enough words to complete her thought, much less put together a sentence.

The doors opened and she tried to shrink back against her chair as figures poured into the room. In spite of the heavenly scent of food, she was terrified. Faceless shadows. Spectres. She was disgusted. When had her fierce heart grown so fragile, so fearful? Had she been this pathetic in life? Or had death leeched every good thing from her so that her faults were so much more wildly pronounced - so sharp in focus that not only her surroundings but also her very nature would serve as an instrument of torture to her shattered soul?

Mercifully, they vanished. So quickly that were it not for the covered platters of food and the filled glasses of pale bubbling liquid, she might have thought she had imagined the entire thing. Who were they, really? She'd been veiled and was a person beneath it... Was she not? It served to only add to her suspicion that she was perhaps not even in her own mind much less her own body. There was only one here who had not worn a veil. She swallowed hard, elbows bracing on the arm rests as she struggled to sit up straighter. Now.... Now a pain screamed louder than all the rest. She gasped audibly, eyes squeezing shut. A cold sweat erupted over her frame, her limbs trembling with the labour of movement. Her teeth ground together, a tightness settling in her jaw, arcing down that slender pale column of a neck. She forced her eyes open as she managed to adjust her posture.

She shifted, fingers moving to try to reach behind her - just as Hux lifted the silver reflective dome from the main dish. The perfect flesh of a perfectly roasted bird... With its spine bare, blinding peaks of white bone set within lightly browned skin, pale meat below the crispy skin. Her fingertips brushed the zipper of her gown... She dug her fingers in on her spine. She blanched, tasting bile creeping up her throat. Her lips twisted in agony and she slumped back against the chair, unable to sustain her position leaning forward. She stared at that gleaming spine, eyes wide. Nobody survived that, her mind told her. And she hadn't... She couldn't tear her eyes away from the slaughtered bird, not even as the sound of metal ringing upon metal grated harshly against her ears.

Her fingers moved to the table, inching painfully forward, the metal of the fork was glacial against the point of her finger, pulling it slowly from the perfect white table linen. It settled in her lap. Who had done it? One of the troopers that surrounded her, or... She tore her eyes away from the bird, to the knife in Hux's hand, to his face. She saw no answers there. Even if they were, she wasn't sure she could have interpreted it. A numbness had begun to seep into her body. This isn't real, she repeated the words over and over in her mind, turning the fork slowly 'round in her hand. Her mind refused to believe it. Not even the rigid alien feeling of a spine that was not even her own could assure her that... Even that this was death... Even that this was a dream... Her mind was fracturing, like ice stretched over a deep lake under the misplaced heavy footsteps of a trespasser. Arcs of denial, disbelief, refusal split through her thoughts, preventing vital connections from being formed, deep crevasses gaping as she shook her head very softly.

He had moved closer, only enough to reach her plate. He served her before turning his attentions to his own plate. She felt only the faintest tinges of relief as he sat down and the table was squarely  between them once more. Her appetite, if she'd ever had one in the first place, had vanished. The steaming food had smelled delicious but a few moments ago. Now, she could only smell something harsh. She could only taste bitter chemicals upon her tongue. A ghost. A memory. No, she told herself... It wasn't real. Nor was the faint beeping that sounded in time with her own heart beat. Her fingers wrapped around the fork had clenched, it's shining tines faced downwards. Morbid fascination pulled her gaze down, too. Preoccupied with insanity's notion, it only took a moment for her mind to latch onto the obsession of the concept of the lack of her existence, her thoughts spiraling further and further out of her grasp, she pushed down... down... down... Her lips parted in a gasp as the fork ripped through the fine material of her skirt, pierced her flesh, stabbing into her thigh. The metal slid easily into the flesh, straight to the root of the tines. Hungry metal teeth. Her eyes widened, the smallest of pained noises slipped from her lips as she released the fork, it's handle protruding from her leg.

She looked up at Hux, his hands were shaking. Fear? No. She was nothing to fear. Maybe she never had been... Excitement, then, a gleam of feverish pleasure in his cold, pale eyes. For what he could be so excited for, she hadn't the faintest notion. Perhaps.... He had stolen her appetite. He devoured his meal with a desperate sort of.... greed. Yet she seemed to be the point of his fixation. That is, til he had slipped the blade of his knife between the fine vertebrae of the fowl, splitting it with a horrendous noise that filled her ears, drowning out all other sounds. They both froze. For a second and then his hand was moving to the glass of champagne, draining it in a single hit. Terror... Why, suddenly was she so terrified? It wasn't until his fingers slipped around the narrow neck of the bottle that she could finally move.

She made herself wrap her hand back around the handle of the fork, with an awkward wrenching motion she pulled it free, slumping forward, her chest heaving as she tried to make herself stay silent, pulling her arm up to the table. The golden tines of the fork stained crimson. Her eyes drawn to the tiny beads of blood. She might have laughed if it hadn't hurt so much. The desire to both cry with pain and howl with laughter waged a violent war for her attention. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down against the screams clawing, scratching, biting up her throat. She looked pallid, a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Finally, she exhaled, a small shaking sound, peeling her hand free of the fork, it clattered against her plate - a sound too loud for this small room. A sound that had signaled his cessation of draining the champagne bottle. The sound of it meeting the table made her jump. Her lower lip trembled but she felt... Giddy. Reckless. 

What am I? She wondered to herself. A dream? A wish? A memory? A lie....   
  


As if he could read her mind, the flame haired Emperor addressed the room. Surely not her... Aside from the fact that he would never speak to a traitor, a liar, a scavenger thief... The simple fact remained... She didn't exist...

_ ‘Let's go back in time. Before death. Before ruin. Before blood.’ _

Had there ever been such a time? She wanted to laugh, something akin to delirium was shaking apart the fragile structure of her mind. If she were to press her knife into her throat, would it split the flesh? Would she bleed? She looked down at the fork - was she imagining the stain on the utensil - such bright red only existed on the vivid flesh of odo berries... Odo berries... She thought of Ben, his pleasure at the tray she had smuggled back to him. She lifted the fork to her mouth, lips closing around the tines. But it was not the sweet nectar of berries upon her tongue. Only the bitter, sharp taste of her own blood. She pulled the utensil free and set it down next to the plate, unable to bring herself to attempt eating the flesh of that poor mutilated bird... Still, that taste... She reached a shaking hand toward the glass of champagne. She took a long pull from the delicate glass. She coughed, her nose wrinkling - the alcohol burned down her throat, still no more used to it than she had been that.... That night. Her eyes lifted to his own as she set the glass down.

_ ‘To a time when I asked a beautiful woman to dance with me…’ _

She straightened, marginally - looking around them, over her shoulder as if she expected to find someone matching that description in the room with them. They were alone.

_ ‘...and I found her in the elevator. Next to Kylo Ren.’ _

Her brow furrowed. Her? Did he truly mean her? The idea was absurd - he must surely be as insane as she was... Disoriented by this bizarre afterlife. Only Ben had ever thought she was beautiful... He'd been the only one to speak those words to her. That day, in the warmth of the ocean. But it had been more than his voice, it had been the way he looked at her. And maybe that was the only reason she was beautiful - because he had loved her. Why he did, she could no longer begin to comprehend. No one chose to give their heart to someone who was too weak to hold it... Idiotic, insufferable child... 

Maybe Ben was the dream... Her wish. A delusion she had clung to when really... It hurt too much to finish the thought. Her confusion hadn't even a moment to settle before Hux spoke his name. His wrong name. Twofold into the realm of error. If not Ben, then he should address him as Supreme Leader! Her heart stuttered, threatening to cease its useless struggle. Yet she could only stare across the table at Hux - his eyes did not waver from her face. What was he looking for? Why could he not look.... At anything... Anywhere else? She was shaking her head again, as if to ward off his gaze.

_ ‘I never got to dance with her…’ _

Because she is not real, Rey thought - so loudly, so adamantly she wondered for a moment if she had indeed spoken it aloud. She never was... Rey, little scavenger girl... Dead in the corpse of a dreadnaught, metal breaking her fall from a staggering height - rope snapped. There had never been credits to buy a new one and frayed as it was it, it still couldn't support her frail body. Her form contorted backwards over the fragment of the ship's hull. That, she decided, was the real Rey. Everything from having met that spherical droid onward had just been the dream of a dying child. Somehow... The thought brought her a sliver of comfort.

_ ‘But as a man of my word, I will not be denied.’ _

Her eyes widened as he got to his feet. The music swelled, threatening to drown every other sense. All but the panicking thought clamoring above all else. D-dance? Why did he want to dance... Now of all times? And why not? What other time was there? Why do anything at all? She looked away, suddenly staring at the glass of champagne. She seized it, tipping her head back as it's burning sweetly liquid tumbled down her throat, draining it dry. She set it down. No. He was still here. Closer now. Her chest began to rise and fall with the short and shallow breaths she pulled into her lungs. Why? Why even breathe? She was already dead...

He lifted her from the chair. She groaned softly, head hanging, shoulders sagging as her entire body protested at the movement. Nothing... Nothing seemed to want to obey her. She paled considerably as nausea stirred her stomach. She tried to lift her hands to ward him off but his fingers curled around her wrist. Why did this feel so... Her eyes widened, freezing almost entirely. Was he... What if this was not his dream after all? What if... Vysera now wore the flesh of the General? Her body shook, trembling with weakness she was afraid she would shake apart. She felt intensely fragile. So broken... A hand slid to the small of her back, just on the curve of her waist. The touch jolted something uncomfortable deep within her.

In a moment, they were sweeping away from the table. A waltz. She did not know the steps! She could scarcely move one foot before they were moving again. She was held close, too close... Like he was... She was? Hux or Vysera? A dream or damnation? All she knew was that she could barely breathe, teeth clenched together tightly as her sp- no. It was not hers. This body was not hers! That.... Whatever it was she had felt... Her thoughts scattered, each pulling in a thousand different directions. Nevertheless, her body or not - the white hot agony that lanced down the core of her body was hers to bear. There was nothing on his features to suggest that he felt even an echo of the pain she was experiencing.

Her hand moved to his shoulder, fingers digging in, clutching at him. A ghost of her old strength. The alternative was to collapse onto the floor and writhe in agony. Yet she could not... She could not continue to... Her hand slipped from his shoulder. To push him away? He took a step and another. It forced her to try to move her own backwards. Her body did not comprehend the motion, legs caught in the tangle of skirts. Her hand caught in his shirt, tugging on it tightly in the effort to stay upright, his grip on her other wrist becoming harder as it became more necessary to keep her on her feet.

She whimpered, her grip moving, arm locking around his waist as she pulled tighter, fingers digging into the flesh of his back as she tried not to trip on her own mutinous legs. She wanted to ask him to stop, to please.... Just... Her forehead settled against his chest, her frame shaking with fatigue. Her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted and teeth bared as tears formed on the tightly closed line of her lashes.

"Please..." She whispered. Whatever other words she had been going to speak died on her lips. For a brief moment, all she felt was warmth. All she could smell was... Ben. With her eyes closed, she could almost believe that it was really him... Almost.


	4. Chapter 4

First he felt her fingertips draw across and dig into his shoulder. It didn't hurt him. She was light in his hands, her clawing desperation did nothing to deter him. Her grip moved to his shirt, clutching to him, as if he might be her only connection to this miserable life. He delighted in her grasping attempts to hold herself, simultaneously struggling to detach her body from the churning waltz. This moment was not entirely as he had once hoped it would be. Nevertheless, she was pure, she was close, her chest heaving, so near to his thudding heart that he could believe for a moment that their hearts might meet, might become entangled in a fight or dance of their own. Her hair fell about her shoulders with the swish of her veil as her clawed hand slipped to his waist. A shiver of peculiar pleasure clattered down his own spine as his hand pressed further into hers, at her lower back. She was sinking, her forehead met his chest. Hux could see the glow of her sweat in the candlelight. Her limbs trembled, delicate as a shivering, fallen leaf. Such beauty... Her tears crystallizing on her eyelashes. Living drops, a thousand times more precious than a refreshing rain.

_ Please... _

Had he made her suffer enough? Perhaps physically, yes. His games with her mind too... His greed overwhelmed any thought of kindness. He was weaving some art that must be completed, his web, his gift, his moment to indulge in. She was so close to him. It had felt like many months since he had been close with another in any way. Perhaps never in an affectionate sense... Apart from with her. Still, her soft plea pulled at the stitching of his resolve, making him weak. He tossed her arms upon his shoulders, both hands coming to hold her by the waist. Her flesh, her skin, could have met with his, were he not wearing gloves, long sleeves, a tight collar; the ways to hold onto rationality in an irrational time. He hugged her. It would hold her up at least, and he wasn't ready to detach from bewitching curves of her body, her warmth, however feeble.

He felt solid and real. A warmth even through his attire that felt genuine. Lifelike. She could not accept it. Her head shook gently from side to side, forehead rocking across his chest. Please, what? Let me die.... The words never found life on her tongue. How could that which was dead find death again? Only an agonizing clarity in her own mind. Words spoken in an empty room - echoing off cold walls, filling the space with something suffocating yet untouchable. Only an exclamation of pain escaped her lips as he took both her arms, guiding them roughly into place atop of his shoulders. The caress of leather on her soft skin. Ben's gloves...

An exquisite pain arced down her back as she'd been forced to hold him tighter, a spasm in her back threatened to flatten her. It felt like her legs were on fire, ceasing to move as her spine ignited. White-hot pain, like a whip crack down the center of her back... His hands slipped to the slender curve of her waist. Too close! Too close! Her heartbeat stuttered, making up for the skipped beats with a frantic thrum of her pulse. Her breathing had become short and desperate. His arms felt strong, encircling her, catching her in an embrace she could not evade. It brought about a paradox - grateful that he did not let her simply collapse onto the floor and yet... She remembered.... Those words... His torrential rage that had been heaped upon her after she had taunted him, challenging a false emperor in his cathedral of treason.

_ ‘Your life will be a living hell, only to be ended when I know you to be ready and not when you ask me!’ _

Fanatical. A zealot. Features contorted with rage... Timidly, she lifted her eyes to meet his face. She saw nothing of that tremendous anger now. Perhaps death had tempered him, too... Maybe that was the true horror of death... Losing your fire, the spirit... She looked down, eyes burning. 

It was as he leant close to her ear that the wicked thought was let loose in the flow of his mind like a delicious poison in a sweet but bitter wine. Could he pull such a thing off? He supposed he had little to lose. Yet his knowledge would finally be put to the test. Years of observance, intel, late nights making notes of his behaviour. Exactly what made such a man, and how Hux might dismantle him. Now he knew: to dismantle him, he would need only possess the very one in his arms. The ultimate leverage... But how to approach this fun with her?

Hux made sure that his grip didn't lessen as his lips neared her ear, one of his hands reached to cup the smooth landscape of the back of her slender neck.

"From the ashes of our past, a better future." Hux murmured cautiously.

So lost in thought, she had not realized he'd leaned in, not until his voice sounded in her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the side of her face. She shuddered, pressing her face back to his chest. How could he be the horror she was running away from and yet also shelter at the same time? Trapped now but once she had run to him... Clung to him because somehow he had been the least horrific person... The only other person in hell with her. Just.... Like he was now. She closed her eyes, if she.... If she didn't look, perhaps that would make it... Lesser. The twisting churn of chaos.

Would she remember the words of that speech? That moment in time? Perhaps not. Even if she did, Hux would have to dig deeper, to dig far deeper. He would have to piece together the very prayers and private that thoughts that he had spied on from his greatest rival. That was, after all, his true colours. Not the announcements of his public appearance, but his words spoken in deep meditation, in sleep, when he thought he might be alone. He had been careful, but no one could keep these moments entirely silent when years had passed between them, when Hux had plucked him, only half-conscious from the snow. There were other ways to attempt to read thoughts without the force.

She shook her head. "No... Noo..." She groaned, soft voice thick with emotion. Those were not his words... Her heart ached, a bitter twinge - the ache of probing fingers intruding on bruised and battered flesh. She whimpered, trying to disconnect her arms from his shoulders. She wanted to run. To what? Another room? Would he not simply follow her? Chasing her down like the carrion birds swooping down on a lamed beast, ready to devour that meat as soon as it stopped fighting.

_ Please, hang on Rey... Don't... _

For a moment, she could see only him, Ben, in the darkness of her tightly closed eyes. She could feel Ben's arms around her as they'd clutched at one another in that fresher compartment. He'd... He'd said something after, something important... She reached for him, she wanted to go to him but... She couldn't feel him. Not a remnant, nothing but his scent - stolen from him...

"The light calls me." Hux continued in a caressing whisper. "Tell me how I should resist it. Tell me..."

Grandfather, Kylo had finished. If she didn't recognise the words, she might think him insane. Yet he would persist further, just to be sure.

Hux's whisper was insistent. Desperate. Her heart ached for Ben, she knew they were his words... How lost... How alone he must have been! Words that had not been meant for... for Hux to hear. The cadence matched Ben's but it was not his voice. This white clad ghost was a thief! He... Somehow he was stealing pieces of Ben... Twisting him, sharpening him into a blade and plunging it into the cavern of her chest. She pulled back, or thought she had but she realized he was settling her to the floor. She gasped, her back seized and she lay paralyzed by pain, chest heaving. She could only stare up at the dark ceiling, tears streaming from her eyes.

"St-stop..." She begged, closing her eyes.

Hux's knees bent as he began to lower her to the floor. Hux had always assumed that Kylo had meant his past, his parents called him. That childhood was a light rather than a darkness for him. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps Kylo's true calling in the light had just been laid along the ground by Hux, like laying a corpse in her tomb, her silks and hair spreading over the cold surface. Hux knelt beside her, running his gloved fingers over her fragile cheek. Kylo's gloves... Did she know it? She must. She must know. Hux remembered the moments of their being in the same corner. Hux himself like flames, and Kylo like smoke. Ashen, elusive, taking over the air.

"Do not test me. You know what will happen." Hux was certain that these harsher words had been directed only at him. Ren's Target to fire at whenever he grew too heated.

She sobbed, wanting to turn away, to curl away from him. The weight of his gaze was crushing her. She lifted her hands to her chest, dragging limp fingers along the bodice of this restrictive gown, gripping at it, irrationally wanting to be free of these trappings - this prison. It's heavy skirts... Her own body... Her fingers found flesh. She... she didn't want it anymore... She could feel the hard ridge of bone under her skin. Nails dug into her skin... It hurt... It hurt so much!

Hux searched for something gentler. One late and lonely night...

"Neither you nor I can be freed until we've let the past die."

Hux paused. He wouldn't do more. 

He came to lie beside her, though he leant his head on one hand, so that he might scan her for her reactions. Did she miss him? 

His words brought her back, fingers stilling their frantic attempt to crack open the cage of her ribs and tear out the offending organ. She turned her head - startled to meet his eyes so close to her own. Laying beside her, watching her intently.

She shook her head, her tears stilling, the desire to sob left her like a rattling sigh.

They were the past, now. They could not free themselves.

He could see the effect of his methods. Paint slung over the canvas of her body, her expression. The chilling crimson of his blaster wound, meeting with her wash of tears, brushed across the light of her face by his gloved fingertips. He wistfully watched her pain, something of a curiosity simmering over the heat of his heart, doing battle with his temptation to be kinder.

It was clear, it couldn't be clearer that she knew. She knew were Kylo's words, and it had brought her to despair. It startled him when she turned to look him in the eyes. Her nerve, her bravery never quite gone. Did he scare her? Hux watched the battle, the war on her creased features with interest. She shook her head. Something inside of Hux twinged. A sickness... Her sickness.

Hux found a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. How did Kylo Ren touch her? Surely not with how he held Hux; a fist thrown to his heart or tightened around his arms so much that the bruises would be left for weeks. No, Ren had a gentler side. Hux knew that well enough and something in it enraged him, pricking his thoughts with the thorns of a rose he would never be permitted to reach. Yet this sweet and savage girl before him... This bride of death... Had known the other side. Had known the truth all along. So long as her memories were scattered and she believed herself to be dreaming or dead, - Hux would take the opportunity. The advantage. He smirked to himself. The smirk was bitter. It was laced with an undeniable sadness. That night on Vorkenna. It haunted him. Her final words... There was something that called to be settled in his mind, however pathetic it might be. She had never got to finish.

"You told me once you don't despise me." Hux said numbly to her.

She lifted her eyes to his own. Pale. A pane of glass. A window she had never been able to figure out how to open. That young boy. Trapped…

"Do you despise me now?"

She shook her head, her expression crumpling. Conflict warring across her face. She'd failed him... Failed Ben... Leia... Everyone...

"I'm sorry, Armitage." She lifted her hand to his shoulder, where she'd added her signature with all the others who had wronged him. All the others who'd been able to see through him, to step over him in order to get where they were going. No one stopped for him, had they? She really was just an animal... A beast... It was the likes of Brendol she should be trapped with - a punishment she surely deserved…

He was struck. It somehow would have been easier if she had hit him across the face. Hux knew how to deal with being struck with the palm of another's hand or even a clenched fist. He had learned the language of violence a hundred times over, but to be struck by the words of an apology that she didn't even owe him? A language that he did not speak was one of kindness, of forgiveness, or acceptance. It was not in his nature. He blankly looked back at her. His mind was hollow. There was no further pleasure, no further answers to be gained in this moment.

Her hand reached to his shoulder. Hux flinched. Just like in the craft she hijacked. He should know she couldn't do harm. That she wouldn't. Not at the current time. Her treatment to the wound had helped it heal adequately. He leant into her hovering touch, but she was already pulling away to gaze at the ceiling, on her back.

"And now it's too late." She retracted her hand, cradling it to her chest as she turned her gaze back to the ceiling.

The vibrating adrenaline that had given his every action power had transformed; melting away into a thick, viscous misery. Was it her misery or his? No, he was not miserable. Why should he be miserable, when he owned all that he had ever wished for? Perhaps it was the somber hour drawing onward, the dance having pulled to a stop, the drink having dropped straight through him.

What should he tell her? He could not tell her that she lived, yet she would discover eventually. What did she mean by her apology? And why should she apologise? Hux could never understand apologies. Why take back what had been done? Why would Rey apologise and not any other?

He raised his arm and the music fell into silence. His other hand reached to hers as he pulled himself closer, attempting to capture her eyes with his own. His hold was firm, he desired her attention in that moment above anything.


	5. Chapter 5

His face had been blank. Unreadable in the face of her apology. Ever that closed door. Those frosted windows. Panes she could peer through but whatever she thought she may have glimpsed in the cold dark rooms were painfully out of reach. She had reached for him but he flinched from her gently reaching fingertips. Revulsion? Or simply the byproduct of a lifetime of being mishandled? Both, she decided. She could scarcely blame him. The depths of the misdeeds thrust upon him were unplumbed by her mind, even in her quick dip into his memories, she was certain had barely scraped the surface.

It wasn't until she had begun to pull away that he had moved, just beginning to lean into her touch but... It was too late. She turned her eyes to the ceiling. How long could this linger on? When would she fade away? Was there ever to be peace or was this all that awaited her? A parade of her failures beginning with the one she'd seen la... Her brow furrowed. His wasn't the face she had seen last.... The music ceased, leaving them in silence. Her heart began to beat faster as her mind frantically tried to pull together the sticking strands of recollection.

A progress that was halted by the sudden weight of his hand upon hers. Her eyes widened as he pulled himself closer, her doe eyes widening. She was trapped, staring back into his intense gaze. She couldn't look away. Drowning in those icy pools. What was this power her had over her? She became very still, her breath caught in her throat. For a moment she saw him. Not as he was now but shoulder to shoulder with other troopers - his eyes had lifted to hers.... She... His grip on her hand tightened, pulling her back out of her thoughts and back to the present.

 

"Never apologise." Hux told her, stiffly, under his breath, his hand steady on her own. He was tempted for a moment to remove Kylo's gloves. He didn't. "If there is one thing that I despise above disorder and my father... it's apologies."

Her lips parted. Somebody needed to... Her heart shuddered and she pulled in a deep, shaking breath - eyes growing misty as she tried to pull her gaze away from him. She was spared the effort, in a sense. He lay on his back, close to her warmth but not quite consuming it. Lamplight hung near the ceiling's center. Did he really directly mention Brendol to her again? He must have lost his mind after all.

She watched him for a moment longer. His striking hair - the likes of which she'd never seen before having met him and certainly had not seen since... The sharp lines of the bones in his face, the pale flesh... Like one of the great statues on Vorkenna and just as hard and cold.

"Admit the truth." Hux continued, finding himself to be oddly calm, "but never apologise for it."

She wanted to tell him it wasn't right. None of it had been right. The things done to him... Should never have been. But was the use? He was certainly aware of it. Nobody deserved what he'd gone through... He would surely despise her further if she were to address it - to dare have an opinion on his private struggles. 

Her apologies wouldn't take it away, couldn't repair the damage but... Her chest ached with the injustice of it all. Didn't he deserve to know that at least one person... just one, at least, wept for him, that that little boy was not alone any longer? Was his personal hell really something she could comment upon? Maybe it never had been. Those cold doors were locked for a reason. Yet if she... Gave up, like all the rest.... Her head rocked back, looking up at the ceiling. It's too late, the words caressed her ear like a gentle whisper.

She lifted her hands to her face, seeking comfort in the oblivion that greeted her when she closed her eyes. There was no comfort to be found. She felt stifled, the silence choking her. Smothered as if she still wore the veil.

Apologies hadn't saved him, just as hope and empathy hadn't. The look in her eyes... He hazily remembered what he had told her concerning his childhood. Then her finding this memories, turning them over in her hands... Would she share his nightmares? Would force users merely glance over the thoughts of others, or would those thoughts belong to them and haunt them forever?

Had Kylo Ren shared memories with her? Had she seen his mind without the trouble that Hux had to face, the study, the effort, the time? And had he seen hers just as easily, as quickly, while Hux had tried time and time again to crack her code, to find what it took to break her intricate mechanism.

"Our story has not yet begun..."

Hux paused. Had he gone too far? His tongue had been carried away so soon? He had offered her too much of reality. What if she had started to understand? Her ignorance would not last. He should fear that moment, but how could he when the current peace, control and quiet was so sweet? The forbidden fruit... That Hux had already devoured with senseless greed.

It was as though her head had been slammed down onto the floor beneath them. Pain cracked through her skull like a bolt of lightning. Her breath hitched, disoriented in the darkness of her own mind's eye. They'd held each other in their gazes but she'd felt that electricity, that awful power slip away from her hands as she'd turned to run. She'd fallen, she remembered... LK... His was the last face she'd seen, he had been.... So frightened, so frantic...

She grunted, bracing her palms on the floor as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The movement sent a spear of agony piercing straight down the center of her back. Before her, the table... From this angle she could see only a small portion of the bird that remained on the platter... She remembered what had been exposed... Cut away... His fervid anticipation... Her heart felt sluggish. She blinked. She hadn't fallen... Her mind scrambled, putting together the pieces of the puzzle... Then...

He watched her shift. Her effort. Her delicate fabrics like rifts of dark water. The folds as ripples. Her hair, a waterfall. She sat up, a doll.

Wire, string, white and black feathers. Constructed with small, quick, fingers on long empty days, hidden in pockets, in his secret drawer. He hid himself in grey, cell-like rooms ready to be called upon. Making calculations, his research, his learning, his training... History, strategy, star maps, facts and figures. One trip back to his drawer. An empty space. The dolls stolen. A fire set alight on the next station. He saw the trace of a remaining clump of feathers catching on the embers.

The only games he would be allowed to play would be with the aid of flesh and blood rather than the constructed wire and string dolls of a restless child. He was to live a life without colour, except for the occasional thrill of a scarlet explosion, accompanied with a climactic shriek.

What toys constructed from either flesh or wire could he possibly desire when the entire Galaxy belonged to him?

Only one. Only her. The colour he longed for. The kindness that he could not comprehend. The power he lusted to control.

She shuffled forward, trying to get to her feet but collapsed back to her knees... Slowly. Painfully slowly, she drug herself closer to the table. She... Couldn't... Wouldn't.... There was a growing sense of dread. She gripped the edge of the table, panting from the effort to have moved so far. She strained disused muscles, pulling herself upright. She stood with her back to him, palms resting on the top of the table.

He knew that something of the truth had come to her. Her breaths were fast becoming erratic. Already she was crawling, staggering back to the table. She had tensed. Tremors in her bony arms. She heaved herself, standing with her back to him. By now he had mirrored her progress, raising himself to his feet. He was wary. She was weak, but he was sure; she could find a way to kill him. Even if she didn't... Didn't despise him after all. Hux watched her flopping, precarious steps intensely. Whatever would come next, he'd have to prepare for, fast. He stilled. He could feel his own heartbeat.

"It was you..." She whispered, finally able to see his arm had raised, blaster held in his hand. What had he seen? When he'd pulled the trigger? Her retreating back or just... Another animal? She bit down on her tongue, tears spilling freely down her cheek. She couldn't react... She couldn't scream. He was... behind her... She struggled to breathe, she could feel the icy talons of fear dragging down the flesh between her shoulder blades.

Hux blinked. The thick despair in her voice. He lowered his gaze. Her despair was... Catching. He hadn't meant this... Not for her to suffer quite so much. Yet she was different from him. She was headstrong. Disobedient. She believed. And faith was a powerful thing. Faith needed to be drawn out from the very root. She was not used to being beaten. Accepting that fate, out of her control, a fate that would be carved by his cruel hands, just as the First Order had done so for Hux. She had to learn... Why did he even feel a need to justify it in his mind? It was for his progression too, that he had hurt her. He'd cut out her disease... But could not comprehend, could not bring himself to cut HER out... was it weakness? Or opportunity? If Vysera Ren, if Kylo Ren, even, were to fight for that throne... Hux had his armies. He would have his knight, his leverage, too.

"LK...." She sucked in a shallow breath. She didn't know if she had the strength to ask... If he had survived. Sickeningly, she was certain she knew that was not the case. Oh, LK.... She moved gingerly, stumbling, nearly falling - catching herself on the back of the chair she'd been seated in earlier. And what she'd touched earlier, that hard ridge of spine... Something less than human... An abomination. She leaned forward, her distorted reflection appearing in the silver dome that had been lifted away from that mutilated corpse of a bird…

She remembered him, too? The trooper: LK-2081, he assumed. So... What part had he played in her story? Her voice was strung with misery. A friend. Yes, a dear one. Could she befriend anyone at all? Even an enemy? She cared for the trooper. For FN-2187 too. She cared for Ren. Were they always traitors? Had she turned their hearts? Or had their natures always been weak, drawn in, as Kylo had whispered in his prayers to his grandfather, towards the light? Hux did not fear her light. He was as cold as snow. So long as he kept his nerve. She was tripping, leaning on the back of her chair before slipping, falling past the edge of the table.

Was it fear that he heard in her quickening breaths? She must have realised now. She must know... How much did she know? Could she understand her infirmity? Could she understand that Hux had split the blood of her friend with her own, only seconds apart when he had been taken over by the sheer, terrible excitement of holding life, death and power in his hands?

It seemed, along with the personal pain he had endured... She had barely scratched the surface of the depravity, the sickness that such mistreatment had fostered in Hux. How...How could she have ever thought she stood a chance?

She felt ill. She couldn't have survived.... She must have died... If she was alive... If this was real... She shook her head - no... Not it wasn't! It couldn't be! Dark fangs of despair closed in around her throat, bearing down, strangling the rising cries of pain.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Was he still laying on the floor? Did he know what she planned? Did he care? Was he enjoying this? Oh, Force... She choked.

She took another shuffling step around the chair. She couldn't.... Stop. She fell again, catching herself on the table. The carving knife gleamed at her, just in reach. This wasn't…! It couldn't be! She hadn't felt Ben earlier, which could only mean that... That while she'd been in this nightmare prison, while they'd made her into an affront of the natural order of things - that Vysera must have... She strained, searching for him, sagging against the table. Nothing. Cold, empty. She felt trapped within a small sphere of the Force, unable to feel or see much further than this very room. Perhaps in all of this, somehow her connection to the Force had been broken... Or... He was truly gone. She couldn't bring herself to believe he was gone. Yet the possibility that she existed in a galaxy where he was not…

 

She swallowed hard, fingers slowly closing around the handle, still slick with grease from the bird's wasted body. There was only one way to settle this... 

Hux cautiously stepped closer to watch her progress. He stopped in his tracks. Her fingers had closed around the handle of the knife he had used to dismember that bird...

Self defense? She could hardly stand. Yet could she levitate that knife- throw it at him like a blaster shot for what he had done?! Hux drew up the lid of the platter like some ludicrous shield, but he could already tell it wasn't necessary. Her movements shook. 

Her thoughts did not drift away from the knife in her hand. Not to Hux, not to Vysera... Not even to Ben. If she did, her resolve might falter. Her arm trembled, as she lifted the knife. She closed her eyes, lifting it to her throat, pressing the sharp edge to the delicate skin. Her thoughts were only of opening a gate in this prison of flesh that was no longer her own, escaping through that crimson sliver.... It was the only way... The only thing that could set her free, one way or another...

She was afraid. Afraid that perhaps she could be wrong... She was afraid of more pain, Force.... Everything hurt so much.... No, it would only hurt for a few short moments and then it would all be gone. The shaking in her grip vanished, resolve steadied her hand.

Forgive me....

She pulled the knife away, angling it without even having to open her eyes, preparing to plunge the point into her throat…

He stood, and he watched her lift the point of the blade to her own neck.

No. Fool! Not HIS life! HERS!

Always too selfish to see... His senses fell into overdrive. He could... No, he couldn't! Too much had gone into this! His time, his money, his mind, his damned, blistered and bloodied heart! So much was yet to be done! A machine could not malfunction until some purpose might be fulfilled from it!

Throwing aside the chair in his path, he had less than seconds. Her eyes were closed, the blade ready, her trembling stopped. Every second in time turned into a full minute. His knees skidded upon the floor, the full weight of his body crashing down beside her. Her wrist, her spotless neck, the shine of the blade, was in his sights, a creature pouncing upon its prey as he had done to keep her from running away in Vorkenna. His hand was launching to her arm.

Pure instinct had taken him over as he roughly took her, his grip tight as his other hand pried the knife from her fingers. He held it's sleek surface, finally, before slinging it violently behind him. He barely heard it clatter over his own breaths. He realised that familiar, angry heat had risen into his face. He shrieked. He hadn't even heard himself until he disarmed her.

"NO!" He had bellowed.

He gathered his breaths. His eyes were fixed upon her. The peaceful light, the elaborate atmosphere... It did not match the chaos of this moment.

"No..." He gasped.

His blood boiled with shame. He had come too far. What he wouldn't accept was that he cared. His canvas. His only friend and companion in the galaxy, considering Kylo's absence. His fear and shame converted to ferocity.

"How... How DARE YOU!" He bellowed, his raw voice deafening the room.

How could she even consider... Was she really SO broken?! Did she really hate him, despise him, despite her protests, enough to take from him the only colour, only purpose aside from his cold and bitter rule, in the entirety of this desolate ship and his desolate life?! Did she despise him so much as to be ready to die rather than choose this?!

Hux's emotions were as rapid and shifting as churning water in a river. Hot tears burned his eyes. He shook it off, more shamed than ever. He glared at her, unyielding, even after her... Her weak, morbid display! Her witchcraft had made a boy of him... a boy of him again! He would never, EVER be that boy again!

Hux's nostrils flared as he drew in some deep breaths. It didn't take long for him to calm again. She was not in need of ridicule or his exasperated exclamations. No, he would try, at least attempt... The gentleness she had shown him. Her bandaging his wounds. Her listening ear.

Hux crept closer. He hesitantly raised some fingers to her shoulder.

"Rey..." He began in a contrasting whisper.

It was hopeless. He could only use words as weapons, not healing tools.

"Rey I... Don't. Don't..." He pressed his lips together. Why was it so difficult? "Don't EVER do it again." His fingers on her shoulder grew firm. "Do you understand me?! Don't you ever..."

His usual quick-wit and clever tongue failed him.


	6. Chapter 6

She was there.

On the island. It was so blessedly quiet. The only sound she could hear was the sound of gentle waves lapping, and of snow falling. Gentle flakes landing in the pure white drifts, filtering between the bare, twisting limbs of the trees, lifting towards that infinite dark sky set with a thousand sparkling stars gleaming like gemstones in a velvet case. Beautiful and serene.

In spite of the cold biting into her bare feet, she did not question the change in the landscape. She shuffled forward, leaving deep footprints in the snow as she made her way towards the ocean. It was the end of all things. Gentle, smoothing away everything that was and taking it into its vast and endless arms.The relentless, patient water always lapping at the shore, ebbing away the stone, washing away the sand, the soil...

It was time.

She took one step into the ice cold water and another. He was waiting. Ben. She approached, numbness taking hold of her legs, her gait stiff as she waded out to him. She reached for him, hand rising to his shoulder. He turned and as he did so, he seemed to waver, shimmering before her. He seemed.... So... So pale, so weak! Her lower lip trembled as raised her hand to him again. A second figure stepped from behind him, a listless shadow. One clad in white. Their cloaks spread in the water around them like blood pooling on the floor.

Ben lifted his hands to her, shaking. Fragile. His dark eyes mournful, yearning. Lips parted in a yawning scream though there was no sound. Fingers straining towards her chest. Hux's movements mirrored his own - two hands searching. She paused, eyes wide. It had been a long time since she had been frightened here... Her refuge. Where Ben was pleading and sorrowful, Hux's eyes were hungry, his hand firm and sure - greedy.

"Please..." They spoke with one voice, eyes trained on that dull flickering light gleaming beneath the dark bars of her ribs. It waxed and waned with the push and full of the ocean's waves. She lifted chilled fingertips to her chest, feeling the ridge of bone beneath her freezing skin. She nodded, slowly, sinking fingers into flesh, the heat of her own spilling blood warming her as she dug deep, fingers growing slick with blood, her grip on bone and sinew slippery as she wrenched open the cage. She made small noises of her effort, determined. She looked down, the softly flickering ember of her heart bared to them. So small... Hardly enough to fill her palm... She wished she had more. Oh, where had it gone? Was this all she had left?

"Is it enough?" She whispered, teeth chattering as she pushed her hands into the cavern, scooping the pitiful lump from its soft bed of tissue and muscle. As she pulled it free, the tiny tethers snapping, she felt herself become brittle.Her coloring fading. She held it out. Their gloved hands descended upon it, both desperate, needy....

"W-wait!" She called, suddenly panicked! They couldn't both, surely not! It was too small! But they did not hear her, each grabbing for a piece - ripping it in half into their frantic palms. The light was snuffed out, the precious drops of light, the little that was left fell uselessly to the water between them, carried away on the current.

"No!" She breathed. They examined the charred remains. Brittle, light - a piece of charcoal... Hux's hand clenched tight, crushing it into ruin and with it - Ben's visage began to crumble. She moved forward but the water was freezing, growing solid - trapping her in place, reaching for the scattering ash of Ben's form - her own hand beginning to dissolve, light and soft as the snowflakes.

~

There was a clatter of something heavy thrown aside. She didn't even jump at the sound. Her expression was almost peaceful. She couldn't bring herself to address the sound of something drawing closer, rustling of fabric against the smooth floor. She could only feel the point of the knife meeting her neck, the sharp bite as the tip just pierced the skin drawing the smallest of crimson beads. White-hot as Ben's lips had been as he'd trailed languid kisses along the pale column within the confines of that elevator.

A sensation brought to a violent halt - his hand gripped her wrist, pulling it away from her neck - a painful tension wrenching up her arm. Her eyes flew open, Hux was beside her, already his other hand was reaching for the one of hers that he held captive.

She screamed, wordlessly in answer to his own ear splitting shriek. Despair and anger. Two beasts roaring at one another.There were no words, it was pointless to call for help - she realized they were on The Ordinance and none would come to her air. She writhed, trying to pull away from him, her other hand prying at the one that held her wrist like a vice but he was stronger. She gasped, struggling and pulling - each frantic jerking motion sending bolts of pain ricocheting through her body. It threatened to collapse her, bring her down to her knees. Finally, he pried her desperate grip open, her fingers burning with the fruitless effort of resistance.

"G-GIVE IT BACK!" She grunted, her other hand reached for his hand that took the knife from her but he held her easily in place. A keening wail of hopelessness, she could only watch the glimmering arc of it as it was thrown behind him. Her eyes fell to his face now, wide with terror and the last vestiges of her frustration. He had taken her key and thrown it away! The lock to her cell remained in tact. She was trapped! Oh, Force.... She was trapped here with the man who had lamed her! Her chest heaved, breaths coming as half strangled sobs.

His bellow silenced her, she fell silent, shrinking back. They both fought for air, to regain a shred of composure.

His voice so raw! So loud! A cry of fright escaped her lips, her head turning as she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt surely his hands would descend upon her. Break her and devour her as he had that bird. She... Couldn't bear it any longer! If there was to be more pain, let it be the last! Her eyes opened again, she turned back to glare at him, eyes hot for a moment, the shadow of her old self - raw determination and spitfire. Perhaps if he would not let her do the deed herself, he could be provoked into doing so for her! Yet his eyes were gleaming with the same molten tears forming in her own. It gave her pause, but merely for a second!

He was cooling, the blade taken from the forge and plunged into water. Though his nostrils flared, his face still colored with rage, he already was gripping composure tight. A feat she had not mastered, still hiccuping down her sobs as she gripped at the table, her legs were shaking. Fear, fatigue, adrenaline... All trapped within the hardening resin of pain. A delicate insect caught in amber.

He drew closer. Her lips twitched, swallowing down the bile that fear had made rise, biting down against another fervid scream.

Her name came as a whisper, not a roar. She shuddered, her legs at last giving up. She crumpled to her knees before him, they knelt on the floor together. His hand reaching for her shoulder - she tried to pull away but found she could only rock gently in place, her head shaking as hot tears slipped down her cheeks.

She shivered. Was this the onset of shock? She felt numb, staring at his lips as he spoke. Words and sounds but they... What did they mean? It may as well have been another language. His grip tightened on her shoulder and she whimpered.

"Why?" She gasped, a breathless broken sound. Why not? Why should it matter? Why should he care if she lived or if she died? He'd.... He'd... She choked on another sob, slumping against his grasp, the only thing keeping her from sinking to the floor entirely. Her head hung low. He did this! Why wouldn't he let her finish it?

He blinked. Those tears retreated back into his eyes. Why? She demanded WHY?! Ungrateful girl. Why should she demand his reasoning for saving her life? Or perhaps she questioned his reason for shooting her? Or why he would shoot her only to save her? Was it not obvious? He had almost destroyed her in his fierce frustration and need to reinstate order, and then he had revived her... to... for... his own purposes... Did she remember such things? Had it all come swarming back when she directed the point of the knife to her neck? She was deflated. Melting wax under the burning heat of his flame. He held her. She was still light, despite the heaviness of her slumped posture.

"Why, Hux?" Her words were thick, her hand settling on his for a moment, leaning forward as her hand slid up the side of his arm, to the fabric of the collar that kept his neck covered, sealed away. Wasn't this what he wanted?!

The burning need that came in her question stunned him. He didn't- he couldn't answer. Yet she was desperate and her need gave him an odd longing, as if he too shared a desperate need for an answer to what he couldn't define or understand. Her hand was trailing up his arm, his shoulder, his collar, leaving a scorching line that had made him freeze. What could she do to him? If not wound him with a blade, would her opposite touch of gentleness prove to be even more fatal?

"S-show me.... I need..." She shuffled closer, her heart stuttering in a panicked crush. Her fingertips gently found the side of his face, fluttering delicately as a butterfly's wings. His skin was warm... Hot even, flushed from his rage in comparison to the frigid hue of his eyes. Her hands caged the sides of his face, her fingers as trembling bars of a fragile prison. She moved closer again, his breath falling evenly on her face.

She was close. Hux's heart gave way to an unsteady rhythm. He drew in a breath but remained stiff as she brushed his face. He should stop her now... Before she would make him feel again. Such a thing was too late. He had felt too much watching her lift that knife to cut open her own throat. Hux reassured himself: he did not want his project to die. Not for him to have empathy for... for...

His thought was stopped by the arrival of her other hand on his cheek. Her hands, her touch was unlike any other. Witchcraft? The Force? Kindness? The components of what he couldn't fathom merged in every one of her actions. It was frightening. It was exciting. He could find a strange mix of misery and happiness in her desperate despair.

"Please... I need to see..." She whispered, a feverish plea. Their faces so close now, her eyes locked with his. She leaned her forehead against his own, slipping into his mind. Gently, this time. Her presence in his mind more like a soothing breeze than the violent force that had invaded his mind before.

Hux blinked. He should have known. To say he was apprehensive would be an understatement. Yet her tone, the weakness of her limbs, her own attempt on her life... He did not move away. He was sure he knew exactly what she would be searching for. Her forehead met his. He wanted to be numb, but he was anything except it; his cheeks still heated, her tender touch, his battling senses... He did not close his eyes. Even with her touching his memories, he had to remember where he was. Who he was. He would not be vulnerable if she tried to take control. He pulled himself tight, readying for the fierce stabbing sensation, or the agonising sink of sharp nails into the clay of his private thoughts.

He was instead greeted with a soothing guide, a careful push in the direction of that day that he had pulled the trigger thrice.

She was his companion. Her presence was not one of an arsonist, she was not there to set fire to the home of his mind. Rather Hux was sure that if he did resist, he might have a chance of expelling her. A guest, not an invader. He had never felt this before. She observed. She did not tamper, didn't taunt, or mold, or scatter, or shove. She just... Watched. Watched through his eyes. He was not so... Lonely. Had he always been so lonely?

He could feel a tension rising within her. What if the tension was his own? He had already made his trek to where she was situated, the blaster firm in his hand. It was not a shock to Hux to know this memory so vividly. He had relived it many nights prior. For her, however, it would be the first time see would see the deed through his perception. Perhaps it would be the first time she could physically feel his ruthless temper, his hunger, his need to spill blood. He already knew she would be too unstable, yet he could not draw her away. She needed the truth. Sooner or later.

~

Sunlight burned her eyes - it gleamed off water, the broken wreckage of the ship. She spun in place, trying to orientate herself. She saw Opan, holding an injury on his shoulder, the same as she had given Hux.

She saw concern on other officer's faces and the rigid posture of the troopers. She felt the bloodlust. The rage. The hatred. It was Hux's. Echoes, tremors of something spoken before - a disease... A sickness...

They were marching. She followed after, caught in the current of their energy. Whatever impassioned words he had spoken had inspired them. Encouraged them, rallied them in spite of the putrid smell of burnt flesh. They mounted the steps, drawing closer... Closer to that ballroom. Her throat constricted in terror as she rushed to keep up.

Then she saw herself. Wild, terrible. A heathen in a circle of troopers, backing away - bewitched by her power. An impostor wearing innocence and desperation. A liar. A fake. She wanted to protest - these things had been real! But, she realized... This was how he saw her.

Skinny legs... A deer in the forest.... Just an animal...

She wanted to look away... She didn't want to see - this wild infection! This rotten disease! The conviction of his thoughts, his memories seared along her consciousness. He loathed her. Hated her! She'd never felt anything like this! It left her breathless and frozen. She saw his arm lift. Steady and sure. The muscles in his finger contracted - the sound of blaster fire filled her head and for a second time her body felt numb, she could feel it all over again, the shattering of her body. She watched her form pitch forward, falling to the floor.

She was sobbing. Broken, mournful sounds as the memory rolled on.

LK-2081. He broke rank - she knew his shape, his form... Could feel the imprint of his very being. She felt Hux's disgust and indignation as the soldier tore his helmet off, landing beside her as he slid on his knees. She watched his frantic efforts, realizing now what he had been doing. He'd been trying to stop the bleeding, to preserve her... He shouldn't have done that! Oh, no! Oh, LK! She wanted to beg him to let her go, just to let her die but her words were nothing here. She was powerless to do anything but watch.

She tried to wade closer but she was frozen beside Hux, watching this absurd play unfold before their eyes. He didn't understand the manner of their relationship. He couldn't. His puzzlement resonated in her own head as she watched. She watched LK's face turn from panicked horror to anger.

YOU BASTARD!

Within seconds, Hux had lifted his arm again - the blaster fired and... A scream. Her own. She couldn't stop the tears, nor the rattling sobs. His blood mingled with her own, that beautiful life, that kindness... Snuffed out in an instant! Hux moved forward, her presence chained to his in this memory drug her along - their... Her blood and his slicking the soles of Hux's boots as he coldly addressed the remaining troopers.

It was after he dispatched the trooper that her horror came into full fruition. So much so that even in the heat of that moment in time, even with both feet planted in the present moment, Hux was swayed by her desperate need to escape, like being knocked by a wave on the shore of a beach.

"No.... No, no! Nononoooo!" She moaned, trying to free herself, to pull away from the memory - transfixed on the medics as they moved forward. Sealing LK away behind black material, the harsh sound of the zipper pulled up. A waste! Such a waste! She couldn't bear to watch any more!

She fell back, her hands releasing his face as she collapsed to the floor. She was bawling now, curling in on herself. Her hands had moved to her hair, fisting tightly in the strands. Her lamentation was pure, the very essence of heartbreak. Sounds of tortured woe. She couldn't care if he saw her in such a state. It meant nothing to him, anyway - her mind was swept away on the tide of loss and agony.

Were her protests really being called aloud within the room where they stood? Was it just in his mind that she let it sound? It was hard to know the difference. He wouldn't have to. She fell away from him, the detachment somehow harsher than the connection. He was alone. The ocean of his memories calmed.

She was on the floor again, lost to the language of howls and unconsolable tears. He watched her. Silenced by the sheer, visceral display of her devastating reaction to his actions. Holding life and death in his palm. He had so much power, yet he did not wield the Force. Only weapons and words. Would... Would his father be proud? Hux dismissed it. Brendol would never hold a pride for the likes of him, and why should he search for something utterly, absurdly impossible? Hux had pulled the trigger as he had been told. It might at least have brought him pride for himself. That he had been capable of this cruelty. Pride was the wrong word. He was not... Proud of her torment.

Nothing felt right. Not a single thing. Nothing within and nothing external to her shaking frame felt like it was alright. It never would be. It couldn't ever be again. Her hands pulled at her hair, tighter into that little heap of misery. The bundle of her body felt alight with the flames of pain singeing every nerve ending in her fragile frame. Every pore, every fibre a miniature supernova, dying stars in the night sky. It left her reeling - for a brief moment it was all that she was. A singular devastating sensation.

Once free of his memories, her mind felt empty. A vacancy she could not explain. How she wanted to find relief without the heat of his fury, his thirst for blood! That desperate heated need for control, the exhilaration of power. But it left her shivering. A hollowed out burrow where once she had been at home. It felt as though the intensity of his emotion had scoured her clean, ripping away the faint traces of who she was. 

His mind.... Him. It was all that was left echoing down the corridors of her mind for what felt like an eternity. The harrowing realization remained in the wake of the tsunami of understanding; he was monstrous. Truly terrifying. The schism of what he presented to the outside world, that cold and tightly contained presence of control in contrast to that twisting viper's nest of electrified razor wire that writhed within him... And somehow... She'd fallen into it. Trapped in those coils, cut down with such heartless brutality. A cruelty she...

"K-kill me...!" She rasped out. It was what he wanted... "Just... Let me..." She shuddered, falling back into wordless howls of anguish and mourning. There was nothing more to say, surely he knew. Her desire finally aligned with his - to see her cut out. A desire so intense that it had filled her entire being, spilling from her lips in a broken plea. It was too much... She'd been driven to the point of breaking before but now she had been savagely pushed from the precipice. Who knew how long the fall had been? She was only aware that she was now dashed to pieces on unforgiving turf below, broken on the teeth of his stony malice. If it was purely left to her will alone to survive, she was certain she would have perished then and there for it felt as though her will had abandoned her.

He gazed on her, remembering the moans, the squeals and shrieks of the deer that Brendol wouldn't let die. Hux's ears burned. He was not... He was different. He was better. What did 'better' consist of? What did Hux possess that Brendol didn't? No! Everything! He possessed a throne. A genius-level intellect. An entire army, and soon, if he was careful: an obedient, brilliant, enticing, force-user. Hux's brow had knitted. His face had fallen at her broken state. What could keep her in this world and at her side? What further price would be paid to keep her?

"No." He answered softly, coolly.

He had to calm her... He had to make her stay. Want to stay, as he wanted her. How? If he repulsed her? She would find a way to end it. If he were to guide her, to train her, he could not do so with her current instability. The most effective prisons allowed prisoners to believe that they did not live within a prison at all. He hushed her cries, coming down to kneel before her.

So calm. So impassive. Impervious to her suffering! He cared nothing for her. Not even a scrap. She was more alone now than she had ever been before. For surely if even Ben, who had assured her of his loved, were to hear her cries of pain would have sought to ease her misery. To grant her this one act of reprieve. To take her life if it meant giving her peace. But Hux only sat, silently watching the fruit of his hideous labour. What had she done to him? Why did she deserve this? She had tried to show him kindness. She had offered him mercy even when she had known she should never have trusted him. She should have put that blaster bolt between his eyes and not into his shoulder... But it was too late for that now. Now, he had caught her, crippled her. She was trapped and he refused her the exit she begged for. If she had been capable of feeling any more misery, she would have sunk lower into the mire - it was just like he said.... That he wouldn't grant her death until he decided it was time... A living hell... A man of his word...

She slammed her head against the floor in frustration. Just once. Hands slipping from her hair, crumpling uselessly before her. Had he pulled her from death's reaching fingers just for this? She stared ahead numbly, seeing only the side of his knee where he knelt before her. Her sobs subsiding into soft hiccupping noises until they fell silent entirely. No... He was a sadist but he was not one to waste his actions or resources... She tried to disconnect from herself entirely, to see her as he might. She swallowed back the disgust and fury she had tasted in his memories, trying to wipe away any trace of emotion.

"There is not a single one in this entire Galaxy who awaits the opportunities that you do." He cooed.

He crawled closer, though he did not desire to appear menacing. Kylo's gloves still adorned his hands... Perhaps best not to touch her, then. Did she know Kylo to be dead? He would have to ask another time. 

Was that supposed to offer her hope? Didn't he understand? She didn't want power. She didn't need that kind of fulfilment. She had only ever wanted one thing... Not simply a place in the galaxy - but a home. She had finally found it. With Ben. It had been better, sweeter than anything she could have imagined - his love had filled her, he had kindled a flame of something pure and passionate within her and she was certain she had done the same for him. She belonged with Ben. Not to Hux.

"Rey." Hux murmured, he tried his hardest to sound kind. To be warm, as he had seen her before. "I am the most powerful man in the Galaxy." His voice was soft, almost warm. A kindness she could not trust - the implication sent tears streaming down her face once again, a trickle of blood between trembling lips - having bit down on her tongue. No. No! Ben alone was her reason to stay. She had been deprived of every other.

So long as Kylo or Vysera made no sudden appearances, it was fact. With Rey at his side, Hux was sure it would be truth even if they did return. Hux wanted to reach for her, but if he did so... His strategy could collapse into instinct. 

"I've kept you alive." He continued. "I will treat you well, if you allow me. You're not a prisoner, we're past that now..."

He would be quick to assure her that whatever she might believe of him, whatever pain she had suffered previously, the solitary, her blood on his pristine floor of the throne room, the squadron leaders, it would not be as it was before.

Lies... LIES!!! He lied as easily as he drew breath! He couldn't hide his truest self from her! She'd seen... She'd felt it. The contempt he felt for her that day could not simply fade away. Yet he had offered her something similar before. She tried to take it all apart. What use did he have for her? A steel hearted tactician... What would he want from her? She could only suppose that she was surely only to be a stick with which to beat his enemies. A weapon. A tool. Her body shook with the fine tremors of her stilling emotion - her breathing falling into a slow and even pattern.

If Ben had died... Surely he would gloat. Was that the purpose of his imitation? Stealing Ben's scent, his gloves? Why not serve up his head on a platter rather than a morbid mockery of her injury? Would that not have provoked an even more catastrophic response? Certainly. And she definitely would not have let him stop her... Had he presented Ben as a trophy, she would be lying lifelessly on this floor! It could only confirm that he not merely wish to watch her pain. That was only a side benefit... A gruesome pleasure. She couldn't bring herself to accept that Ben was gone. Not until she had proof! If he was out there... She would find him. She had sworn to him.. To do whatever it took. Without that oath, there was nothing to keep her here but for that promise.

"It will not be as it was." Hux reassured her aloud. "You're with me." His eyes glistened. How he enjoyed his own words that he had longed to tell her. The future could be so bright…

She slid her gaze to his face. He intended his words to be a salve. She desperately wished she could accept them as truth, to accept the comfort he was attempting to placate her with. But wretchedness... Anguish.... That was her reality. Less than human and intended to never achieve humanity again. An instrument. Just something to be used. An object to elevate a heartless master's ego. To secure a throne he did not deserve - why hadn't she seen it sooner? How could there be anything else?

"And Rey..." He took in a breath. She wanted to turn away but the thought of moving threatened to destroy her all over again. She'd found a position where everything ached but it had lost the sharp prick of a blade's edge. Instead, she looked to her hands where they had fallen to the floor before her.

"I... You..." He couldn't articulate it. Words were usually his greatest resource. He tried again. 

There was only one thing she could do...

"You will be helped." He promised. "Restored. You... you will be strong."

It might drain from her every last piece of herself but... She could not leave this life unknowing whether she would meet Ben in the next or if she only had to wait... She would... Play his cruel game. Make him, somehow.... Trust her enough that she could take the length of her leash to its limits. To break it, to run away and conduct her search for Ben... Somehow. Perhaps whatever kept her from feeling him in the Force would fade once she was away from this toxicity! Whatever she found would determine whether she slipped away at last into oblivion to find Ben in the next life or whether they would return and take Hux's head as recompense.

She wanted to laugh at his last statement. To scream at him... To question him. How could he help her when he only knew how to bring ruination? She could never be restored to what she once had been, of this, she was convinced. And... Strong? He had destroyed her! But for Ben... She would lend this devil her soul...

She pulled herself closer to him, her arms straining with the effort. Her fingers reached for his, placing hers between his own as she took his hand in both of hers. She rested her forehead against the back of his hand... Ben's glove, a piece of him, in a way... She gave a soft squeeze, as if somehow... It was impossible to dream that he might feel it, somehow, if he still lived... A small whimper escaped her as she closed her eyes. The desperation in her wavering tones was genuine, imploring in a voice composed of barely more than a broken whisper...

"Please... Take this weakness from me! I don't want to feel anymore... Make me strong."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (It's still technically Monday in Australia!!! *runs around beeping*)

She took his hand in hers. Not his hand, perhaps, but Ren's. Her forehead met the fabric. Hux observed her face and he was swift to drink in her anguish at the touch of the love she seemed to have lost, and would forever lose, if Hux could only confirm his death, if he could get his peace of mind. It was mournful; what was written on her face. She had felt Leia die. What did she know, if anything? How might he coax her answers from her? A gentle squeeze... Hux drew in a breath as she whimpered. It was all so... Beautiful. Devastating. In shades of candlelit gold and the black of shadow.

How sweetly her desperation, her plea was articulated. Yet so soon after her discovery of him as the perpetrator of her friend's death, the thief of her spine, her tormentor and Kylo's trespasser? His paranoia, his caution, had hardly diminished. He had crippled her, clipped her wings for a reason. Wherever they would go, the security would be on high alert and heavy doors would close behind and in front of them, locking them together, Hux being free to leave if he wished, of course. He was reluctant to shatter his artfully crafted dream; his personal afterlife, his living illusion. Yet if she had requested it, and even he could admit that she had put on a lovely presentation of her pain to him, he would grant her pleas. He would make her strong... She need only continue to obey. No rush this time. No mistakes.

He seemed hesitant to move. Had her request caught him off guard? Or had he simply only ever intended for her to occupy this place, this decorated nightmare? She was assured now, that at least for the time being, his goal truly was not to have revived her simply to kill her. It did not exactly feel like a relief to know this. Instead, she lay there, her expression growing blank as he pulled his hand away from her. 

She stared at the floor, she didn't want to move. The pain was tolerable, only just. But he was moving and it wasn't long before she felt his arms slip around her once again. She wanted to protest but there was no way she would be standing on her own. She swayed, her legs trembling with her weight now settled upon them once more. Her hands gripped his forearms tightly, trying to regain her equilibrium - the rise from the floor to standing made her head spin. Or perhaps it was the glass of alcohol on her empty stomach.

He directed her towards the door. A pitiful sight she must have been. Clutching at him out of the pure necessity lest she find herself back on the floor again. He was doing much of the work, she was staring down at the ground, trying to get her legs to obey her, internally cursing this awful dress - a twisted recreation... She thought she might never wear a dress again if she could help it.

He slipped Kylo's glove from the warmth of her forehead to her cheek. Her face was marred with tears. Tears that must be dried. The very first lesson Hux had learned: don't ever let them see you cry. He snaked his arms around her once more and pulled, lifting her from the ground again, not heavier than those dolls of wire and feathers if they were life-sized. Her delicate dress swam about her. Hux was careful not to step upon the hem as he half escorted, half carried her stumbling form to the doorway.

After what seemed an eternity of crossing the room - they had made it to the hallway. Her eyes burned with the light, she squinted, gritting her teeth. Almost certain that the sterile lights of the corridor would blind her, his fingers hurriedly scrambled to find the veil, pulling it back over her face. Her breathing became labored but for the relief it brought her aching eyes, she would bear it. She couldn't bring herself to speak, to offer him thanks... It was, after all, his fault that she was like this. A pitiful, twisted imitation... A shadow, a ghost...

The cold reality came flooding in. Hux held her form, still warm, still feeble compared with his strength. He wondered what Kylo would have paid to have this moment with her himself. Hux’s thoughts swung to when he had first asked her to the ball from the gymnasium. How Hux could now imagine that it must have driven a long blade between the cavities of his ink-stained heart. A cruel satisfaction elevated his energy, the pace of his movements. He was no longer tired. If she had requested it, he would eagerly begin his work.

Out in the harsh light, the cold and soulless hallways of his re-imagining of The Ordinance - he seemed to flourish. His posture had changed subtly. It wasn't the thing she noticed with her eyes, still dropped to the floor as if looking down where her feet ought to be would make it easier to use them... But she could feel it. He still held her, a supportive arm around the small of her back. Too close for comfort but the hallway was far colder than the dining chamber had been. Resentfully, with her shoulders and arms bare and the flesh at the top of her chest exposed, she was grateful to steal some of his body heat. He was... Eager. Excited? Perhaps. She had no desire to focus on the shifting currents of the Force around him. She didn't want to know what was in that dark space behind those pale, glittering eyes.

She had not bothered to chart their course. The map of The Ordinance was locked away in her memory, shuttered in beneath a haze of pain that seemed to override her natural instincts. Her will, too, was dampened by the ache of movement. It appeared anything more than trying to breathe and the awkward shuffling of her legs was too much to ask of her. It wasn't until they had come to a stop that she paid any attention at all. His hand had lifted to a panel on the wall, the door slid open and he brought her inside.

A modified spare room. Resembling a Captain’s quarters. Close proximity to his own room and the throne room too. A door that responded only to the pattern of Hux’s handprint, locking behind them. He was fortunate to have made these preparations and modifications in time. He pulled her into her bedroom. Dark colouring. Cold tiles. A bed, the head resting on the dove-grey walls. A shower, smaller than that of his own or Kylo’s. Empty draws... but the panels concealing a wardrobe? Hux sat her down on the bedsheets that matched the walls. Personal living quarters, she realized after several moments. She could feel the coolness of the tiles even through the slippers she wore. She shivered now that he was not so near. She closed her eyes for merely a moment but it was a mistake

He reached to her face, ripping away the veil, suddenly cold after departing from her warmth in his arms. He tore the veil from her shoulders completely - a motion so abrupt and violent that it pulled at her hair as he tore it free. She trembled, a small hitch in her breathing. She shrank in on herself as he set it upon the nearby desk.

“The strongest are born from pain.” He told her numbly. He would tell her his truth. Kinder than Brendol, he would obey her requests and he would have some care for her desires and satisfaction as well as his own needs to see the flowering buds of her anguish.

She stared directly ahead - she... She couldn't look at him. Her stomach churned. What did he desire from her? A weapon... She told herself, over and over - anything more and... Only a weapon. A tool. She silenced those dark and creeping thoughts, the sinister creation of her shattered mind. She was little more than a cripple now. Surely he would see her as a thing so far below his own view of himself that...

“If you loved Ren...” Hux dared to hum, “then surely you would know that his greatest strength was born from suffering.” This, and of course his heritage and blood, Hux was sure were the reasons for his conversion to the dark in the first place, and why his power could be feared.

If... If she loved Ren? It was only for Ben that she still breathed! The moment... If such a moment came to pass where she was to discover that to no longer be the case... Nothing Hux could do would keep her bound to this life. She swore it to herself, her expression hardening.

“Let your own suffering convert to strength.” Hux advised her, making his way to those panels. “And you will be freed from misery and care.”

How little he knew of Ben... She could not blame him, of course. Hux had never been privy to Ben's love. He tasted only the side of his passion that was stoked by the flames of anger. He knew of his violence but not of his softer side... Her eyes were beginning to tear up again, she could feel them growing glassy once more. She drew a deep breath, trying to sit up straighter but the motion set off a chain reaction of pain through her body. She cried out, hunching over as the pain stretched over her like a spider's web. The ripples in a pond spreading over her entire body.

It sounded too good to be true. If only she could transmute this pain into strength. But... The physical weakness, the agony held in the confines of her limbs that were once lithe, and hardened - defined by her hard work... It simply felt like pain and weakness. She didn't even know if she could ever move as she once did. Her movements were clumsy. Stiff. Not fluid and nimble.... She did look up now, her hair hanging before her face as a curtain.

"Are you free?" She croaked. There was no challenge in her voice, no mockery. Simply the sound of a lost and tortured soul. "Do you feel no misery and no care?" Was such a thing possible without being delivered into the hands of death? Could she truly learn to feel nothing at all? With nothing to weigh her down.... It was tempting. Dark and bitter. Yet strangely moreish... Like one of the treats she had sampled from the vendors on Vorkenna.

“You need an armour.” Hux announced to her, turning to face her with something of a sly smirk when he considered what lengths he had prepared had truly paid off. Her eyes drifted along the movement of his form - he had moved to the paneling along the wall. He opened it to reveal a selection of garments. A line of blackness - a dark maw revealed in the gray walls…

A rail of assorted clothes were presented to her. Working designs, all in black. Uniforms, but designed to match the feminine curves and smaller size of her body. Tunics with adjustable belts, jackets, armoured pieces, all of it in black, some in leather. Sleek. Lethal. Not yet weaponised, but deceiving enough to strike fear into any that might see her. 

He would transform this bride... this corpse... into a warrior that he knew she could be, if only she directed her efforts to a cause that benefited him. He came to her side, standing by the bed, his palm coming to rest on her shoulder. He tasted something sour on his tongue. The figures of his young life placing heavy hands on the fragile, glass-like bones of his shoulders. He removed his hand, taking a step away. He left a device on her bedside table.

She looked away as his lips curved into a smirk. So pleased with himself. She allowed her head to drop. She had to... Whatever came... She would endure. She had to. A thought that empowered her until she realized he had come to her side, standing so close to the bed, his hand settling on her shoulder. Her form felt trapped by it. Smothered. Just when she felt she could bear it no longer, he stepped away, taking his hand with him as he moved to the small table beside her bed. He set something down on it.

“Alert me.” Hux requested. “I'll attend to whatever you need.”

He lifted his eyes to the heavy door, that would lock her inside. His eyes had moved to the door and hers followed. She was already making the correlation when he continued.

“It's only temporary.” Hux assured her. “For your protection.” It wasn't a lie. So many were not yet ready to see her. The new clothes would help, but if she were to pass in corridors... they knew her face. They knew of the squadron leader. It was a balancing act.

She thought of those who came for vengeance and how they had invaded the cell. Violated her... This cell... In spite of his insistence that she was no longer a prisoner... At least... Had more amenities than solitary had. The gravest of all her enemies was likely the only one on board who didn't want her destroyed. A lonely thought. Isolating, forcing him into the position of some sordid ally. She nodded, numbly.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He added, softening only mildly. He suppressed anticipation and his eager excitement to see her newly dressed as he left the room. An impossible directive. Yet she was able to breathe a little easier when he let himself out of the room. She sat for a long time, eyes growing unfocused as she stared ahead - unseeing of the room around her.

She made herself rise. A feat much harder to accomplish without Hux's supportive arms to assist her. It seemed to take an eternity before she had managed to cross the small room. She stood before the closet. Once, she might have taken delight in new surroundings. She would have wanted to explore every nook and cranny. She might even have looked for structural deficiencies she could exploit in order to find a way to escape. May have barricaded the door while she found a way out... Perhaps she would have looked for weapons, prepared herself for a battle... Maybe she would have had the cunning and will to lay an ambush and summon Hux directly into it.

None of these thoughts crossed her mind, however. The edges of her vision were growing blurry. Unsteady. Wavering. She reached out, hand falling on the sleeve of a shirt - she pulled it free from the hanger. A pair of pants followed. She stumbled back to the bed, falling to her knees. It hurt.... She sucked in labored breaths between clenched teeth. She tried to twist her arms behind her to work the zip but... No luck... She hooked her fingers into the neckline that had granted her modesty. With a sound of ragged desperation, she tugged on it - the movement sent fire blazing up her arms, singing the muscles and nerves along her shoulder blades. Finally, she heard the snap of the zipper, it's teeth drug open as she struggled and tore at the gown. It hung limp around her waist.

It occurred to her, perhaps there was surveillance here. Did modesty matter? Perhaps not. Yet the thought of stranger's eyes roaming over her form brought with it a wave of disgust. She pulled the shirt to her chest, the pants too as she shuffled - a lumbering and uneven gait towards the bathroom. Once inside, she pulled the door closed behind her. The shower offered no appeal, nor the modest row of soaps. She could not scrub the wretchedness from her body, no matter how she may have tried. Were there cameras in here, too? She felt too exhausted by her movements to even want to consider it. So she told herself that it wasn't the case. If it was a lie, it was one that she felt compelled to believe.

She pulled the dress free of her hips. It was a relief to be free of it's tangling length. She pulled on the pants - much like the officer's pants. Fitted from the ankle to just above the knee where they flared out, accentuating the natural curve of her hips. It served no purpose that she could discern. If it was aesthetically pleasing to someone's eye, it was not a vision she shared. But it didn't matter. Nothing here mattered. Not until he trusted her enough to let her wander from his sight. She pulled the shirt on next. It was fitted remarkably well to her torso. Well placed seams that smoothed over the swell of her bosom and conformed to the curving, narrow lines of her waist. It covered her neck all the way to her chin, hid her arms down past her wrist, finishing just before her thumbs.

Her reflection stared back at her, impassive. Hollow. She glanced down at the sink. Three small drawers set into the cabinet. She pulled open the first. A toothbrush, the paste that accompanied it. A bar of soap. The next held what she had been searching for. A brush and some bands to hold her hair. She made quick work of her hair, ripping through the small tangles before she pulled it all back into a bun. The third held some extra washrags, a razor. Curious. An oversight on his behalf? She picked it up, holding it in trembling hands. Or merely a test? He must have known... She let it fall back into the drawer before pushing it closed.

She was about to leave the compartment. But... She reached out for the bottle of soap, she unscrewed the cap though her knuckles seemed to burn with the effort. She inhaled, hoping... Maybe... A piece of Ben hidden amongst this cage... But it was without scent entirely. Somehow, she knew that they would all be. She couldn't exactly explain, even to herself, why it left her feeling bereft.

She slid the door open, preparing to fetch herself a pair of boots. Perhaps even gloves, when her back spasmed. The muscles in her back and in her legs seized and she was falling. There was no stopping it. She tried to throw down her arms, trying to prevent herself from greeting the floor directly with her face. She cried out, tears immediately springing to her eyes. She tried to move but it set something off. Her muscles convulsed and she lay, violently shaking on the floor, one arm pinned under her frame - the other twitching uselessly before her. She shuddered, legs kicking against the floor - nothing was obeying her! Her body was its own master! She was scared, so frightened!

She knew, somewhere just a few steps behind her was that bedside table... The device that he had left... But... She couldn't reach it - moving was impossible, not while her writhing body tried to shake itself apart. She was.... She was going to die here! On these cold tiles while her body tried to shed itself of her spirit. What could she do? She tried to make noise but only the smallest of sounds escaped her lips - punctuated by the sound of her flailing and the chattering of her teeth. Something was so beyond wrong! Her pulse was racing and her panic rose - she could feel spittle forming at her lips, her eyes rolling back into her head. She was choking! She couldn't breathe! Oh, Force! She was going to die!!!


	8. Chapter 8

She was trying, trying so hard to move forward! Or turn! Maybe if she could worm her way back, her flailing legs may knock the beacon from the table an... She wheezed, a pained sound as her head met with the floor. It was a terrifying thing, to be held prisoner in one's own body. Aware of the fact that her body was entirely out of her ability to command. There was nothing to fill her but panic and racing thoughts, as it felt like her body was trying to rip itself apart. It felt as if even her blood was trying to free itself of her veins. Visions of her own body sprawled on the floor, the shattered bone and blood - that part of her... That could never be restored - it had to be...The... The implant? Was her body rejecting it? Was such a thing possible?

Another sound of pain - a new eruption of pain. Her eyes were twitching - she saw something slick on the floor, her face cool with the sensation of something wet meeting the air as she shook violently. There was sound and movement. Just dancing on the fringes of her perception - taunting her with equal portions of hope and despair. There was as much a chance that she could just as easily slip away here, unnoticed and dead for hours by the time Hux might deign to check in on her - cold and stiff in a pool of her own mess as she might have the hope of rescue. An escape beckoned to her - as she gasped, eyes wide and rolling, choking on her own saliva - air and spittle caught in her airway. She felt damp - sweat forming on her body from her unwilling exertions.

~

He sat, as still as a moon upon the throne of night. A champagne glass in his gloved hand for good measure. Why should he not celebrate? The girl was living, wasn't she? And she was so quickly compliant too, or so it seemed, at least. At least...

It had come on so quickly: pride attacked by paranoia. For if he felt a thing close to jubilation, it was indulgent and arrogant and foolish of him, he knew. Supreme Leader Snoke so often seemed to lounge in the seat of his power, and for this, Hux was sure it had a hand in his ultimate undoing.

Overconfidence could be addictive, but Hux’s own beliefs concerning his superiority were matched only by his anxieties, and the memories of being no greater than a failure, - a broken puppet, a punching bag for Ren and a tool for Snoke. Even with his power, his riches and desires before him, the feeling... the stress and the shame, had never really left him. A swarming sensation of worthlessness.

Hux could not put it to rest. He could not close his sore and weighted eyes. Better to know the truth in all things: in himself and what power he might truly possess. He had left her to her own devices. What if he had forgotten something? The razor. Had he forgotten the razor? Was it left in her bathroom? A fatal mistake. His fingers twitched as the thought made him stiffen even further. The idea: the blood pooling upon the spotless tiles... when she had confronted him first, in that throne room, her blood would stain his snowy floors. She would stain his beliefs with doubts... He took another drink, though admittedly to soothe a growing unease like a spreading poison, rather than for the purposes of pleasure. He reworked his visual memory of the room, before shaking his head at his own trouble. Why should he put himself through this agony of doubt when he had her and the room available at the touch of a button?

He drew his finger over his pad, unlocking a thousand, flickering surveillance screens, in black and white. He did not spy hers immediately. His eyes were occupied with the movement within the other monochrome windows. It was more the difference of movement that caught him off guard. Something strange. A body. Her body upon the floor. Hux maximized her live surveillance footage. There was the most peculiar flapping... flailing. Writhing...

Hux stood up. His glass fell, shattering before him. He paid no attention as his screen additionally followed: it slipped from his fingers to the floor, with a clatter, not that it made any difference; he could get any soul in that ship to clean the glass, on their hands and knees, if he desired. He had enough money to buy thousands more data pads. His priorities had been thrown into the air. Chance. Odds. Chaos. Life’s roll of the dice in a game against death.

Only he could open her door. Only his handprint would allow it... he was breathless, he could not remember running from the room, yet he felt the wind created from his own speed - catching along the folds of his cape, lifting it into the air like a wing. The close proximity from the throne room to her own, had him thanking his own mind for arranging it so. He tore Kylo’s glove from his hand, throwing his palm upon the scanning lock. The door slid open far too slowly. Already Hux was inside, preying like a starving predatory creature, upon her limbs. His wide eyes darted over her convulsing form. This couldn't be a trick. Her pulse was speeding, her vision having rolled backward in her eyes. She was jerking, in such a grotesque and jagged dance.

He sent an emergency signal to the doctors. They wouldn't be enough time...

If he called her name, he did not remember. Her name... Was it? Had she simply imagined hearing it? She couldn't see, why shouldn't she also be deaf? She felt something or someone grabbing at her limbs. Her body railed against the efforts, squirming like a snake impaled on the tip of a spear. She tried to speak - a few grunts and ragged groans escaping her lips but she... She was off the cold, hard ground. Held against something firm in a strong grip. A grip that refused to yield to her body's desperate attempts to be freed. It was, in some way... Comforting... He lifted her head, moving to hook his arms around her back and knees, he lifted her. He noticed the tight fit of her new uniform, as severe and dark as he had hoped. It was not the time to observe such things, nor be distracted by her warmth. She wriggled in his grasp like a fish on a hook, still in her body's fit. He held her tightly, he was pulling into the corridor. She shuddered one last violent time, at last, it seemed her body had expended all the energy it contained - she was as a lifeless, limp doll.

Hux’s hold tightened. He held her tightly, as if he could pull her back into this life, or hold her life captive within her skin. If he was too late... no. NO! He would not be! He bitterly convinced himself that this would not be, not after all this... this bloody trouble, after all he had done to acquire this sweet prize, she could not be lost! There was more than he was willing to confess. He had given himself over to instinct. He wanted this woman in his arms to live, because he could not watch it fade away. Because he had already seen so much done by his own hand, and now that his anger was diminished, now that this was no longer under his control, he couldn't watch it again. He was lucky that the nightwatch were the only few in each new section of the ship to observe his panic and progress. Hux was not Ren. If they talked and the news returned to Hux- it would mean their permanent end.

~

The emergency beacon had lit - a red glow. It passed unnoticed by the doctors, hunched over a bottle of spirits while Dr Harrol demonstrated to his captive audience - Dr Minsk, how to prepare Spice in a different way entirely. He had placed a small amount of the dirt colored substance upon the surface of a spoon that they had retrieved from the samples fridge where they had been stashing their food for the last several months - their efforts often kept them from joining the others in the mess halls. To leave their little project unsupervised for even minutes could have resulted in her death... And their own by proxy.

Yet now that she was discharged into the capable hands of the Gen-Emperor, there was time to... Celebrate was hardly the correct word. Nor were they particularly sad. A little mournful, perhaps, at the loss of their morality in more than a few senses... More likely, they were simply trying to drown out the voices of their consciences.

"And.... Light the burner." Dr. Harrol instructed. Deft as she had been during the surgical processes, Dr Minsk had the burner ignited, watching with wide eyes as he moved the spoon above the blue flames. She was mesmerised, watching the powder turn slowly to liquid.

"Now, the syringe." He held out his hand and she placed it in his palm. Skillfully, he rotated it in his hand, pulling the plunger back as the chamber filled with the substance. Vile. Wretched thing... Harrol imagined he would never be free of its siren song, the toxic desire... And now, he set the spoon down, reaching for Dr. Minsk's slender arm - he would not be alone in his need.

"Wait!" Dr. Minsk pointed to the security monitor behind Harrol, he turned partially to look over his shoulder - half running, half stalking down the corridor was their Emperor. The girl was limp in his arms. He threw the syringe down and they both rushed out into the hallway, rounding the corner on the corridor they had seen him striding down and nearly collided with him.

The white coats appeared at the end of the corridor. Only meters from the medical bay. Hux stifled his anger at what had seemed to be so slow a response. Perhaps they had visited her room only to realise it was vacant and that Hux carried her here. They reached for her, eagerly trying to take her from his arms but he held her tighter still, his progress never slowing as he pushed between them, taking her straight to their lab. Giving each other a wide eyed glance, the doctors rushed to join him, watching him settle her on the operating table. It was not without some grief and irritation that they saw her laid out on that smooth, frigid surface. They had only freed themselves of her silent, deathly presence!

He was... no. It wasn't fear he was feeling. It should not be fear. Only concern that his project might fail. Yet when he had reached the doctors, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he want to hold on? They even tried to pry her from him, only for he himself to enter their station, laying her upon an operating table. Only then, did he release her. Only then, did he realise that his breaths were short and the beating of his heart was irregular. Only then, did he fall upon the doorway. Exhaustion, he told himself. It was late.

It wasn't exhaustion. Whatever it was, he turned from it. He smothered it until it stopped its piercing, incessant cries and fell into silence.

There was no time to question him on any symptoms - by the sound of his labored breathing, he wouldn't be able to communicate much and if they waited... Dr. Minsk's fingers were searching for a pulse, together they set to work. Dr. Harrol summoned more of their team while Minsk drew the curtain, her hands falling to the uniform she had donned. Two changes of clothing in one night? A third, soon to join them, she mused somewhat bitterly. Dr. Harrol had returned - the curtain flapping at his intrusion - he was working to connect her to the monitoring devices and within seconds the sound of a weak, slow beep filled the room, matching the beat of her heart.

Three other doctors had appeared, dressed in scrubs, their hair covered and gloves adorned, ready to get to work. Needles pierced her flesh, bags hooked to long staves with liquid flowed into her. Reluctantly, they turned her over. They looked at one another in dismay. All but Dr. Minsk who was staring at one of the more junior doctors in mute horror. The clear liquid in the pouch swirled, brown coloring tainting the... She watched the journey of the drug that Dr Harrol had prepared, down the tube and into the crook of her elbow. Her lips parted - wanting to scream at the man but... The heart monitor began to beep more regularly. Stronger. Perhaps, in this instance... Spice would... Be of a benefit. Still, how could he not have checked what he was injecting into her IV! She seized him, a murderous expression on her face. She was mindful that the Emperor still lurked beyond the curtain.

"Go get him... Some food or something to drink... And a chair!" She hissed in a whisper, shoving him violently out of their operating area. He had been offered a drink, but he no longer willed for one. Humiliation made itself known in a red flush of his cheeks. He wrung his hands... and found that he could feel.

He must had dropped Kylo’s glove when he had removed it from his hand to open her door. Hux grit his teeth, saying no more, he pushed past Doctor Harrol, entering the emptiness from where he had come. How could he have forgotten such a thing as that glove? His exposed hand clenched in a fist. It would not take him long to find it again. He had to draw himself away. He could not wait for her. He had to stop feeling before it could begin. Now he was detached, he would leave the image of her limp body behind. He entered his chambers, pulling away his gloves completely. He would wash this away... wash it all away.

He stood under the head of his shower. Pouring water. Pouring rain in a grey landscape of Arkanis. He winced. The heat and pressure of that water graced some of his newer scars. The chamber filled with mist. He turned the temperature until it fell cold, and he let that icy touch seep through his hair, over the flesh of his pale, gaunt face, until even his bones were chilled, at which point, he shut off the jet completely. He took some struggling breaths. He could not observe his own blemishes in the mirror. Scars that had brought him shame, each accompanied by a ruthless memory. Unwanted tattoos of failure and disgrace.

He briskly and almost viciously found his new clothes, drying himself hurriedly before forcing them on, tightly. The Vorkenna look-alike robes in black were abandoned for his recently favoured white. Pristine. Clean of empathy. He fitted new gloves. No more of Kylo’s business for the next day. Perhaps the weakness of that man had somehow been transferred to Hux’s own twitching hands. He folded the mess. Everything in its usual place within this temple of sanity. What had happened to the damn glass in that throne room? Why fixate on such a detail? He shook his head, his gloved hands meeting the bridge between his eyes. He was tired. When had he last slept? No. No sleep yet. He would wait for the girl, but not be concerned with her. Yes! He must busy himself with matters of his government. His empire, to which, he must not forget, he should be wedded first and foremost.

It did not take long for him to become absorbed in a task. He was good at that. Once he started a project, he would not stop until it might be at a completed stage. The possibility of yet another weapon plan had been discussed, though Hux himself could hardly see the point without a war to fight. Still, it was enough. He was himself, an inventor. Hyperspace tracking being one of his most notable successes. He was nevertheless unable to shake away it all. The tension. The possibility. It could be her end... he found himself giving in and returning some hours after. Timed well indeed, since the doctors would only be a minute more before he was next addressed.

~

She turned back to look at the woman and this time she did make a sound. Angry red tendrils reaching up her back from the incision scar. Infection. The inflammation must have been effecting the... For what felt like the thousandth time, a scalpel split her flesh and they set to work.

It was hard to gauge exactly how much time had passed. A pair of orderlies had been summoned, wheeling a bed between them before disappearing behind the curtain. Dressed in the white hospital gown, they shifted her form with utmost care and delicacy to the stretcher, preparing to move her to the infirmary proper. Her coloring was better. Less pallid. Perhaps it was the Spice or the antibiotics... Either way, though she was sedated, she looked a lot... Better.

The aftermath of their operating theater reeked of blood. The bins were overflowing with soiled rubbish. The sterilizing trays were stacked high with instruments needing to be washed clean or disposed of entirely. Discarded gloves and hair coverings - the doctors and surgeons looked exhausted as they pushed the curtain back at last. Nurses had come to report for duty - cleaning what remained of the mess as Dr. Harrol and Dr. Minsk moved to approach the Emperor.

"She is stable, now." Dr. Harrol reported, about to give him the run down but Dr. Minsk had cut him off. Hux let out a breath he had no idea he was holding captive, only for the declaration to be expanded upon by doctor Minsk:

"Stable for now. It seems that it will take her body time to adjust to the... Equipment installed. I suggest starting her on a routine for physical rehabilitation as soon as possible. The lack of movement is not good for the implanted device." 

Hux’s brow furrowed as he began to contemplate how she might take to such a routine. Of course, if he really wanted her as his weapon, she must be restored. Yes. She would be. He would raise her. Bring her new life.

"That is to say, additionally, she has been inactive for months."

 

Hux rolled his eyes at their nearing comic interruptions. As if they were incapable of resisting re-clarifying each other’s thoughts. It was clear that they had hardly been given the time to construct some more coherent and less stammering explanation of her current state.

Minsk frowned at his interruption. "I would also advocate something to assist with... Mental health. It's no small thing that she has survived." Her tone was bordering on dangerous. Dangerous for her - it held the smallest of points, a hard edge amongst the usual softness of her voice. Dr. Harrol stared at her for a split second - horrified. Hux turned to face the female doctor. Minsk, who had posed such a suggestion.

She finished, but Hux did not lift his eyes from her. The First Order was hardly known for its surplus of councillors or even droids when it came to troublesome affairs of the mind. Were she not consumed by despair, Hux was sure she could pass as one who had maintained sanity, even after the games he was so eager to play. No, he did not care for her unravelling, and he knew her will to be strong. Whether it was bitterness, his determination not to feel... he did not care for her mind. Better it be weak. Easier to manipulate. He didn't even care for his own mind. Better not to dwell on even the notion. No, he was sane. Perfectly, perfectly sane. If the cogs of the machine of the First Order could turn without breaking completely, his work was done. Mental health... if she gained her strength mentally... she would be a thousand times stronger than him in every way. No, he couldn't allow it. Dr Minsk was interrupted once again by Harrol. Like two chattering birds. They were lucky Hux needed them. He could imagine wringing their necks, simply for how silly, how flustered they could be.

"To aid in this process of physical recovery," He hastily steered the conversation away from that particular suggestion, "Experimental studies have shown that... Spice... May be beneficial for a more swift recovery."

Dr. Minsk managed to keep her face neutral but only just. Experimental? If a mistake on the fly could be called such! More than that - he was proposing an addictive substance to be... Admi- she shook her head. 

Hux’s brows raised. He needed her body back, fast. He could hardly drag around her weight, waiting for her to recover. He needed his weapon. He reminded himself: it was her body, he really needed. Not her mind, though her thoughts must be shaped by himself and her focus must be refined to engage with the force, but only when she might be ready for it, which he hoped at the most could be some months.

"But, Emperor, Spice is a highly addictive substance... Most users... Constant users... Have a lifespan of 5 to 7 years. It's... It's not the best idea." She cautioned. Hux’s gaze grew far away as these new thoughts and revelations began to whir and tick like an old machine coming back to life in the back of his mind. How long would he need his young warrior for? Highly addictive... he smirked. Something darkened inside of him. The brilliant, blinding sun of his panic and anger had set in a final triumphant blaze of scarlet. Finally: some leverage, other than Ren, whom he did not possess. Finally: control other than using her kindness, her soul, against her. He could not have planned it better... even he, a master tactician, could not have planned this better himself.

"And yet... To progress through physical rehabilitation, she needs to be able to function without crippling pain. The most effective of our pain inhibitors would reduce her to... Essentially hibernating to cope. She would feel no pain but she would also be useless."

Dr. Minsk blew out a long breath from between her lips, shaking her head.  
Hux was consumed. His dark greed began to eat away at all else. Yes... he needed her. Stronger. Sooner, better. All under his supervision, fed her desperate need by his hand. He could see her before him, her delicate watering eyes desperate to the point of near breaking for her release, and he, her benevolent Emperor, would grant her it in exchange for her complete devotion and service. How could she run away? He was her main supply. How could he possibly lose his grip upon her; he who embodied her living drug and need to stay living. It was too much pleasure, far too easy for him to refuse.  
"I cannot in good conscience, advocate this plan. We can manage her pain and rehabilitation in a less dangerous way that will still render her capable of full function!" She protested, they were neither one looking at Hux, but at each other. Their 'discussion' was getting more and more heated and as a result, their voices were getting lower and softer... Harsh whispers, gritting teeth, narrowing eyes... The proximity between them was getting smaller and smaller until movement caught their eye. The Emperor had drawn very near indeed. They turned to face him, trying not to look frightened but in truth they had almost forgotten he was there, they swiftly had descended down the discussion of repercussions, alternate strategies an-  
Conscience, in an Order built on blood? Doctor Minsk could not, in plain honesty, believe that Hux possessed a true conscience in the face of what must be done? No. The plan was perfect. The two doctors, he noticed, were facing each other, having elapsed perhaps, into their own infantile argument. Hux’s smirk had not faded away, but only grew with the prospect of what would soon come. He would have to order imports of spice, as much as he might be able to. He was the Emperor. It should not be of too much difficulty. He came closer to the two of them, near enough so he might recapture their full attention, he hoped.

“Have her on Spice if she isn't already.” He demanded in a swiftly and cuttingly. Dr Minsk looked like she was about to protest. “Ensure she is well as soon as possible. I want her on her feet and ready to...”

Hux sniffed. Surely he was mistaken. Was that scent... was he smelling... alcohol? Why had it taken them so long to respond...?

Hux took a step back, his fingers trembling. He curled his hands into fists. His face creased into a mask of fearsome rage. Was it a joke to them? Where had they got that spice idea from in the first place...?! He could feel it: they feared him as much as they thought him some angry child to be directed and taunted and calmed. He raised his palm. It was a second’s work to strike them both swiftly and harshly over the face. Dr Harrol took a small step forward, there was... Dr Minsk paled, moving her shoulder in front of his - halting his progress! That damned adoring fool! She'd yell at him later...They were damned lucky that his nails were concealed by the fabric of the glove. They were even luckier that he needed them. He was shaking all over, somehow still heated. He fixed them with a stony glare. 

“Don't you even THINK about drinking and revelling like fools again until that bloodied and broken excuse for a girl is back on her feet!” He snapped, his icy eyes wide with the emotion that he was unable to release in any form other than his anger. 

“I should break the bottles you drank from and pour the broken glass down your throats for what you could have cost me!” It was a sweet release. Hux was aware that he needed an outlet. “Is. That. CLEAR?!” He shrieked as a final finish, able to reap an odd and welcome enjoyment from this.

They nodded in unison. It was almost as if he was transforming right before their eyes. Something less than human. His face contorting with rage, color rising to his cheeks... His teeth bared as he snarled threats. They could only stare, transfixed by his horrendous anger. They nodded again, answering him with the same words - "Yes, Emperor!"

They didn't move. Not until he was well down the far corridor - a progress they watched on the screen with their breaths held and their eyes wide. Harrol turned to Minsk, his fingertips rising gingerly to the angry red mark left on her face - Hux's signature painted in his rage.

"Are you alright?" He asked, softly, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned her face. She drew a deep breath, offering a nod.

"What a total and complete skrogging arse!" Harrol growled, swiping a tray of instruments off the nearby counter.

"Harrol!" Minsk sounded scandalized, jumping at the sound of the metal tray hitting the floor.

"He knows sweet kriffing all about how these things work! We'll quit the drinking.... But withdrawal symptoms will not allow for going cold turkey. Unless the next time she ends up under our scalpels he'd like her returned as a jigsaw puzzle!" He rubbed at his cheek.

"We should just kill her." Minsk said, slumping down on the bench.

"What?! Why?!"

"He's probably going to kill us... So... Might as well ruin his day, hm?"

Harrol blinked, unable to believe his ears.

"Perhaps you HAVE had too much to drink..."

"Oh, skrog off!"

~

"Norsil..."

"No. Argent."

"Argent? Are you INSANE? Her history of taking directives from females is..." Harrol pulled up the footage sent to him from one of the officers who had snagged a copy of the fight. "Not very good."

"She won't be up to that stage for at least a week or two..." Minsk argued, she was heating up the Spice in the spoon as Harrol had shown her... She wondered which one of them was going to have to demonstrate this process to the Emperor. The very idea of it seemed ludicrous. An Emperor... With a drug habit! Not his own, but... The Emperor as... She couldn't really even begin to put it together. It was.... It was so ridiculous.

"Don't burn it!!!!" Harrol caught her attention, he was looking at the spoon and the little bubbles forming in that dark tar like substance. She swore, removing the spoon from above the burner and drew it up into the syringe.

"Norsil has the best success rate. He trains the shock troopers."

"Precisely why it won't work. Norsil is a man."

"SO?"

"....She's gotten to the Emperor. Norsil would be at risk."

"Gotten... To th- You realize how insane that sounds? She's a tactical asset. Not some... Are you suggesting that women are immune to her... Whatever it is you think she has?"

"No. But Norsil has a reputation. And, when Hux came in here, originally... He wasn't wearing his glove."

"Because of that stupid DOOR... Are you suggesting... What I think you're suggesting?"

"Something... Is up. You don't put that much time and money into something unless you're getting something out of it."

"A WEAPON! A TACTICAL ADVANTAGE!" Harrol couldn't believe it!

Minsk shrugged - they were at their desks, datapads open as they formulated the regime for which the woman would become... Rehabilitated. Their progress slowed immediately once they began to quarrel over who should directly oversee her physical rehabilitation. Medically, they would handle the rest but somebody had to train her...

"Norsil. That's final. He wants her on her feet and fighting fit. He'll make a beast of her."

"Flip a credit chip?"

"Fine...."


	9. Chapter 9

Rey blinked. Bright lights surrounded her and the faces of two individuals, who from their white coats, she could only assume were doctors. She stared at them for a moment or two, trying to orientate herself as the last of the sedatives began to wear off. Her eyes widening as recollection began to flood back... The last thing she remembered was being picked off the floor - her body had completely betrayed her!

A horrifying thought gripped her mind, her hands patting down her body as if to check if any more of her had been replaced while she had absolutely no awareness of what had happened.

"Don't worry. You're in the infirmary. You're in stable condition." The female addressed her with a small, tired smile - dark circles hung under both of their eyes. She didn't think she quite believed them...

Something was placed on her legs. She jumped at the sensation, staring down - the man had set something dark on her lap. It took her a moment to realize that they were dark folds of material.

"Physical rehabilitation begins today. We'll have you ready in no time. You're to get dressed and you will be escorted to meet your trainer at the training gymnasium. After he releases you from your daily duties, you are to return to the infirmary where we will verify your continued stability."

They drew the curtain around her bed and stepped away, allowing her to get dressed in peace. Probably the last peace she would have in a very... very long time. Together they waited, looking at each other with uncertainty. Their conversations and planning had carried on long into the night. Ethics had been discussed in earnest. Minsk thoroughly gave Harrol a tongue lashing over the fact that he had pulled a knife on the Emperor and he was very ridiculously fortunate that he hadn't spotted it. Or if he had, that he hadn't remarked on it before leaving...

At the end of it, they could come to no clear conclusion on the morality of helping her to pass on quietly under sedation. And for that reason, she was able to open her eyes today.

The curtain was drawn back. The woman was on her feet, wavering slightly as if her balance was trying to escape her. She looked pale, drawn... And yet, the worst was yet to come. Once they attached a health monitor to her chest, they surrendered her to the security detail that escorted her to the gymnasium.

~

It was impossible to tell the time of day... Her quarters had no view of the stars... It felt an age since she had seen the sky. She felt trapped here, unsure of the passing of time - confined to the same regulated walks from the moment she was woken up to the time she was sent to bed. She had no autonomy.

Rise. Dress. Report to the infirmary - receive injections. Train. Bacta infused ice baths. Medical assessment. Sleep. Somewhere amongst all of that was time to eat. Three times a day - very specific portions. Forced to eat every bit.

She was greeted by the same helmeted and armor clad man in the gymnasium who screamed at her relentlessly. He afforded her no mercy. It was work work work! Non-stop. Every time she slowed, or tried to catch her breath, he would instantly be at her side - screaming at her to keep going.

She hated it at first. Often reduced to tears, her body shuddering and giving out long before her session was deemed to be over. But little by little, she could feel control of her body returning. Each day she resembled less and less the half starved, thin and wasted creature she had emerged from the infirmary. And for that, she began to start looking forward to the sessions.

It wasn't until she was locked in her room in the evenings that she truly had begun to feel... Alienated. Completely alone. The only faces she saw were that of the doctors - Harrol and Minsk, as she had learned. They only talked to her about her condition - questions, mostly. They didn't often give her any answers to her own questions so she learned eventually to quit asking. They said nothing that was not professional and entirely related purely to her physical status. The security detail were dressed in their mandatory armor, their faces obscured by helmets. They didn't speak at all...

Even Hux had faded away, somewhere beyond her little world of three corridors, an elevator trip, the infirmary and her room. Likely sitting on that damned throne. But at least he was not with her. That made it somewhat easier to breathe. Easier to focus.

"Good! Your technique is improving." The trainer waved his hand. She set the weights bar down, a small curve of her lips. It was hard to get praise out of him...

"Will you tell me your name, now?" She asked, somewhat breathless as she reached for her bottle of water. Another benefit of training was the fact she didn't have to open that closet full of the clothing Hux had prepared for her. Black singlets, black pants that ended just below her knees - a style she was quite familiar with. The fabrics, she had to admit, were surprisingly comfortable.

The helmet tilted.

"Norsil."

She grinned, capping her bottle and stepped to the weight bar again. He observed her arms, already definition was creeping back into her form. He could see it everywhere. In her bared calves, the lines of her thighs, the curve of her... He cleared his throat.

"Take a break from the weights." He said, crossing his arms. She looked around, hands settling on her hips as she looked about the gym. It was empty, as usual - whether it was segregate her or to protect her, it seemed she was fated to exist in places where the others were not. He could see the definition in the flesh between her shoulder blades. In all honesty, he was quite proud of his work. Soon, they would be able to begin sparring and running the obstacle course.

"Well, what, then?" She queried, turning back to him, lifting the hem of her singlet with absent minded candidness, wiping the sweat from her face. The panes of her stomach were no longer simply flat and smooth. She would be one of his finest accomplishments.

"Let's go for a run."

She groaned, throwing her arms in the air and they were straight back into it - he was by her side, yelling at her to move her ass or he'd be kicking it down one length of the gym and up the other. She took off, moving like a projectile fired from the blaster pistol that hung on Norsil's belt.

Her times were slowly but surely improving. The first few days, it had been a miracle for her to simply walk the length of one side of the gym. Now, she was moving down the track - her form was improving. Functional movement. She disappeared behind the bulky structures of the obstacle course but he could hear her even footfall as she ran. He watched her approach, grabbing the tall box from beside him and threw it in her path. Her eyes widened, seeing the obstruction. She didn't even slow, she bounded over it, sailing clear of the top of the box but for a light tap of her hand on its surface. It gave him an idea, perhaps he would have her do some hurdling, later... It was always good to mix up the routine... Keep her guessing.

~

Hux’s anxieties concerning the problem of Rey’s condition had eased over time. He watched from a distance, able somewhat to disconnect himself from her as he devised further meetings, explored expansion strategies, harbouring a stable economy for his rule... while he didn't need to work so hard, -giving those responsibilities for others, he could admit he nevertheless needed his duties, his occupation to keep him alert, involved, his mind busy. He also, of course, had to maintain the training of his body. Emperor or not, Hux had lived on routines from a young age to follow the strict examples and discipline of the Order, as well as to help him further control his mind and body.

He could not, of course, allow himself to be seen as a man of flesh and blood by his troops any longer. His will to be better than them meant that he would sacrifice his human need for daily company. He was as cold, as isolated as ever. When he needed daily exercise, when he needed daily training, he would usually schedule in his own concealed slot, usually at night. His frustration, his stress would often beg for release during the night. No troops would train there in the gymnasium. His temper fuelled him, even through exhaustion. It would help; to lift a gun at a firing range and resist the temptation to be reminded of his aim to Rey’s spine... If the idea came again, he would move on. Lifting weights. When he wanted to be strong, when his rage could not be expressed in any other form, nothing would stop him. He sometimes he had done this long into the night. To keep himself awake? Perhaps. He never did want to give into what nightmare sleep might offer him. His unconscious being a place without the slightest control or Order.

It was lucky, at least, that when he could control his own mind and body, Hux somewhat enjoyed his own company. He felt lighter without the gaze of any other. He could not be judged, rumoured about, watched or even insulted behind his back if he was simply alone and out of sight with a surveillance feed to reassure him that each whir and tick of his giant machine was progressing as planned, exactly as it might.

It was with causal and non-committal interest that he checked the schedule of the gymnasium one afternoon to discover that Rey had been stationed there. How could her routine have slipped his mind? The gymnasium was far less empty each day now that her sessions had been scheduled in additionally around the designated sessions of the troops. Hux hardly ever grew bored, but he had always found it easy to become curious and was sure to monitor the progress of his project. The corners of his heavy lips twisted upward at the thought. It was odd that he should crave company. Her company. He had been relieved by how well she was doing. It was not just her company he craved, but some kind of colour. No war to fight... no further act of murder he might commit to paint a splash of red upon pristine walls... he was not willing, but restless.

What if he were to kill two birds with one stone, as it were? If he might see her and exercise himself? He would expose himself as flesh and blood to her... but she already knew it. Didn't she? She had looked into his mind after all. Their relationship was not one of an ordinary captor and prisoner, of a master and servant or of enemies or even, for a time, of... lovers, when he attempted to court her, Hux supposed. No, not lovers. It was too ridiculous a thought. Yet with all that she had seen and that he had shown her, why should he fear such a prospect... she must, after all, be just as lonely and restless as he was, -likely even more. He also couldn't deny that electric thrill he would receive from surprising or shocking her. At least, he assumed she would be surprised. He was a little surprised himself that he was considering it.

After changing and hiding the results behind a robe that he gathered to his front, his legs had taken him to the gymnasium before he could even process the decision. He entered, watching Rey run laps. He was impressed, yet he knew her strength. He watched with a small degree of fascination as she made her circuit.

Behind Norsil the doors had opened. Rey was racing down the other side of the gym. He turned, about to tell off whatever soul had wandered in - the gym had been booked for their session and no others were to be permit-- Oh.

Grateful for the helmet hiding his stunned expression, he moved to salute.

"Emperor!"

Ah. Of course. Norsil was here. Hux watched Rey make a stumble. It would almost have been comedic, but Hux, of course, wouldn't laugh. He does, however, watch with some stifled amusement as Norsil spurs her on to continue.

Rey was coming around the far corner of the gym. She had not seen the newest occupant of the gym, not until she had come upon the box. At first she thought it was just another trainee. Except, the entire time she'd been caught in this routine, she had not seen another single soul. One glance at that flaming hair and... Her clearance was not so flawless this time, her foot clipped the edge and she was falling through the air. She tucked, landing mostly on her shoulder, pulling her head in to avoid landing on her neck. She rolled out of the fall, landing on one knee, her other leg braced before her. Her back ached, fiery in its protest at being used in such a way. She panted, trying to collect herself. What was he doing here? Her lungs burned, now that she had stopped.

"DID I SAY YOU COULD STOP? GET UP! MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!!" Norsil had turned, pacing towards her and waving his hand - the last thing either of them needed was the Emperor thinking they were dragging their feet on her recovery. She nodded, jumping to her feet. She did not have to be told twice, eager to move away. 

No! NO!!! This place had become her sanctuary! Why was he here?!

“Norsil.” Hux greeted coolly. “Just coming in to check on her...” he watches her continue. She is obviously, almost charmingly stunned. “On her progress.” Hux finishes.

He doesn't, of course, reveal his true intentions. The Emperor can hardly go around telling others of his human boredom and need to maintain his strength. Norsil replies, but Hux isn't listening in honesty. He's watching Rey bounding from one foot to the other.

“Might she and I be excused for a short time?” Hux requests.

He is sure he can sense Norsil is a little stunned by Hux’s wish, but they should know by now: this is not an ordinary project, nor an ordinary situation, if an alternatively ordinary situation even existed.

“Yes Sir.” Norsil finally accepts.

He is a perfect trainer in that he is also a perfect soldier. Hux respects men who follow orders without questioning them. He exits the room and Hux watches Rey continue. There's no time to doubt his decision now. He might as well accept it. Yes, she will see him as he is, and let her come to what decision she might. He pulls away his robe.

Left. Right. Left. Right. One, two. One, two... Rey repeated the words over and over in her head. She could see Hux conversing with Norsil. Just... Checking her status, she told herself. He'll... Be gone in a minute or two. He's tall and statuesque in his white robes - a sharp contrast to the charcoal, black, and chrome gleam of the gym. Her eyes dart to Norsil, his expression unreadable in that helmet. She caught a glimpse of herself in the gleam of Norsil's visor - she knew that tilt. EYES FRONT! He would have screamed if he were not otherwise engaged. So, she obeyed the voice that did not speak, forcing herself to look straight ahead. Running was by far her least favorite activity.

Even though, with Norsil's guidance, she had learned to push through her physical pain threshold - to embrace the 'high' that followed once her body submitted to its punishment. At least, that was how she felt - that it was more punishment than anything else. It was never as exhilarating as he made it sound. It made her sad to think that perhaps running was the height of joy that he had ever experienced. Running could never compare to eating ice cold Odo berries in the shade while the air itself held the heat of the sun... Or Ben's smile... She swore, nearly stumbling again as she turned the corner. With a heart crashing to the soles of her feet, she saw Norsil striding away, towards the door. She blinked, sucking air into her lungs as she made herself continue. Was he coming back?

Her eyes drifted further down the length of the room. Hux stood, slipping the robes from his shoulders. EYES FRONT! She yelled at herself, jerking her gaze away from him. It's easy for her to accept her sudden difficult with breathing is entirely to do with the three laps she has done. But in spite of the shortness of her breath, she forced herself to pick up her pace. Faster. Away from him! But she can hear him approaching. And at a speed that brings him beside her in no time at all.

He is in a white vest and shorts, his arms and legs bare. She will see his scars... he knows this already. It's surreal. He should not do it... but the thrill. The danger of exposure... he runs until he meets her course, joining the current of her circuit, his eyes setting as he finds himself in the mode of an entirely different concentration than his mental work, yet work that still takes a similar energy. He ought to say something to her. He doesn't know what...

“How do you feel?”

It's a casual question that she might not take so casually. Hux is oddly relaxed as well as excited by the prospects of this situation. He doesnt let it show. He knows she could take the question as a damn joke- for why should he care for what she feels? And how could she feel anything except what he had delivered her? He wondered at what point she would discover... or he would be compelled to reveal... the truth of her addiction.

She gave him a sidelong glance, barely more than a couple of seconds but it was enough to completely dash her hopes that the privilege of rank would have made him soft. She didn't have long to look but what she saw was not the slightest sign of excess weight and the evidence of sharp definition. They finish the lap in silence and he shows no signs of fatigue. She had no such luck. Her lungs burned with exertion, she can feel the muscles in her back and in her legs begin to twinge. She has to slow down but she doesn't want to. It's that, or... She recalled last week when she pushed herself too far... Her body shudders and is slowing down in spite of her wish not to show weakness. But she's not prepared to spend the night in an ice cold float tank. Deprived of every sense but one of touch and endure the biting frigidity until her body grew numb.

She didn't know what to make of the question. It's so unexpected that it almost makes her jump in alarm - she had fallen into the quiet concentration, the rhythm and flow of breath and movement. It was so jarring. What did he mean? Hadn't he just discussed this with Norsil?

"I'm functioning at a capacity of around 78%. Adequately performing within the designated perimeters for the current rehabilitation trajectory. Routine medical checks indicate that the likelihood of a full recovery is quite high. Barring any unforeseen complications with the experimental pharmaceutical treatment underway, moderate term prognosis is positive." She felt like a droid. Repeating almost verbatim what the doctors had been telling her almost every day. Like a script. They never said what her long term prognosis was... She falls silent. He certainly cannot have meant anything else... If he had, her response would have been different.

How did she feel? She asks herself the question. The conversation carries on in her head as it often does these days - the only communication she has is with herself. She almost wished he had meant it in a personal sense... She's aching for a real talk... Even if it is.... With him. Her thoughts trail off, her legs force her to stop. She braces herself on her knees, sucking in air, trying to keep her breaths long rather than the short desperate gulps she usually falls prey to when her cardiovascular system is under strain.

Her chest is heaving, palms braced on her knees. She is acutely aware that he has come to pause by her side but his motion has not stopped - he's still keeping time, even if he is running in place. She glances up, the look on his face is... Surprisingly not one of harsh disapproval. She was preparing herself to be faced with his wrath. It is a look that summons a hardening expression to her features, eyes narrowing as her teeth come together and clench. Hard. She knows a challenge when she sees one... It's the same as she used to see on the other scavenger's faces when a new wreckage site has been discovered... Whoever gets there first and can defend it, gets the take! He turned from her and took off. She lingers for a second or two, she's hanging for a drink of water but...

She growled under her breath, sprinting forward to try to catch up. But he's fleet of foot - fast as a scout ship. Norsil would be praising his form and technique - about a thousand times more refined than her own... But she's now four laps in and he's still fresh. Somehow, it doesn't matter to her. She's determined... Furious at his unspoken challenge for a reason she can't explain... It seemed the easiest explanation. She refused to entertain the thought that she was simply glad for some company other than Norsil and the two doctors... Variety in her monotonous life. More programmed and unchanging than her life on Jakku had been, at least then she'd had autonomy...

Here, she's at the mercy of some regime, set on a board to play a piece in a game she has no knowledge of the rules. She doesn't realize how wild and crazed she must appear, taking a shortcut, cutting through the obstacle course - swinging on a rope to gain momentum to leap up over the dividing wall, her arms straining as she pulls herself bodily up over the barrier. When she lands, it feels like someone has hacked off her legs with a bludgeoning weapon. Instantly, she feels the rush of pain, the prickle of pins and needles. It solicits a rough groan as she scrambles to her feet on the other side of the obstacle course, bursting through to the other side of the track, her hair falling free of the bun she had pulled it back into, sweat forming a sheen over her skin. She's caught in the moment, perhaps this is the delirium of running that Norsil had truly referred to. Without thinking, she's reached out, pushing him to the side as she propels herself forward - unconscious of the consequences... Or the grin that has split her lips.

"How do YOU feel?" She shouts over her shoulder as she forces herself to maintain pace. It's not until she's a few steps ahead of him, staring at the track that she realizes what she's done... Terror thrusts down her throat like a spear, spilling into her gut like poison tipped from a bottle. Now she is afraid to slow down. Her hands clench into fists, as if the feeling of her own fingers on her palm might clear away the linger sensation of her hand upon his skin. Warmer than she could have possibly even have imagined.


	10. Chapter 10

In the corner of his eye, he could see her speeding onward, she headed off the track. Hux did not expect her fire, catching on the obstacle course like flames over a forest. He had almost thought she was close to buckling. He kept going, intrigued by her reaction to his own implicit test. He had not expected her to take it, but she was wild again. He lost sight of her, concentrating for a moment on his own progress. His ordered, rhythmic pants, the patter of his shoes. He thought he had put some significant distance between her and himself despite her spurring on her efforts. That's when he heard a clamour, a crash. She was flooding through, a river breaking from a dam. Her hair had fallen, flowing tresses. He was overtaken, a push throwing him off his straightened course.

_How do YOU feel?_

She was ahead. Ahead in seconds. Hux felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. She took every test in her stride. Stronger than he had believed. Promising... yet, more than that, there was mischief and spirit. Her challenge in return. Hux was not about to take it lightly. Despite her, in a moment, having given him everything he wanted: excitement, thrill and an unexpected shock of foreign jubilation, he was stubborn- determined that she would not win this enjoyable little game. He shouldn't be playing it, and yet... he couldn't pinpoint the true reason, but he would not let himself lose.

If she could cut corners, even in her lesser condition, so could he. He made himself quieter, more stealthy. It was mischievous, as mischievous as she was. He saw one of the large boxes in the middle of the track. A thing, he imagined, that Norsil had put there to push her in her previous lap. Hux’s small smile grew wider, a wicked and near-infantile thought coming over into his mind. Playful in nature. He was not there to play... yet... how he longed to see her face, her reaction. He had not smiled properly, it felt, in months. He used the nearby boxes to hide himself away as he marked her progress. She would reach the box in the track soon, but not after she had turned the corner, which should give Hux plenty of time to…

She had turned the corner. He hadn't screamed at her. Nor had he signaled for the guards to come take her away... Maybe... She slowed. This pace was not sustainable. Her legs were throbbing. Maybe it was alright. Perhaps he hadn't taken offense to her antics. With the slowing of her own stride, it was easier to hear that his own had faded... she had slowed to a jog, coming back around the far corner.

 

He made a dive, hiding behind the box she would soon leap over in the track. She must have caught onto the fact that he was no longer behind her, but she was running at such a pace that he still presumed his plan would prove successful.

Where was he? She didn't see him anywhere, her brown eyes scanning the room. Or had he passed her? Cut through the middle as she did? She sped up, heart lifting - was she alone? She hadn't been alone outside of her room for weeks! It was the thrill of... Freedom, such as it was. But also....No. Why would she be sad that he left? Or was it simply being alone in general? Frustrated, she sped on, here came the box... She changed the gait of her steps, preparing to leap over it.

He could hear her coming closer and... Hux leapt up from behind the box with a playful yell, giving it a kick towards her before he took off running again. His yell was answered by a startled shriek, her surprise splashed across her face. He kicked the box towards her, she stopped it, barely in time to keep it from tripping her. She was sinking behind it in a low crouch, heart pounding. Maybe he hadn't let it go, after all... She pressed her shoulder blades against the surface of the box, preparing herself if he were to come around it but she could hear his steps retreating - running away.

He suppressed a chuckle, turning back only to observe her expression and check that his kick of the object hadn't been too hard, that he hadn't knocked her down completely. She was, after all, still to be his warrior.

“Fantastic!” He called smugly behind him, though it was tinted with something of sarcasm. “I feel fantastic...” What he did truly know was that he felt alive, felt alive where he had been dead for so long. When did he last have company? When did he last have company while exercising?

Sarcasm! She growled but the grin was back, realizing that she was not in trouble, at least for the present- pushing off her feet to give chase. Until he had started to slow, back where he'd come in. 

He passed where he had abandoned his cape. Some vibration sounded from the pocket, but he was yet to pay notice. Just some more time. A little more time. There was something in this time that he didn't want to end. He paused, his lungs raw and burning, he took up a bottle of water, taking a generous gulp of the cool substance. He could still see Rey... still as wild as ever. Would she want the water? Would he give her...? He supposed he had once offered her a drink on Vorkenna... or he could taunt her with it, watch her dried, pink lips and flushed cheeks as he joyously wasted it. She was a girl from a desert planet. She knew its value. 

Pausing for a drink, she could only stare longingly. She wished she'd had some water... She slowed to a jog, stopping She turned abruptly to the side, stopping herself. Her legs throbbed and ached. Not as badly as her back, but... She approached the rack of weights. She allowed herself a grimace, taking a little longer than was necessary to pull a set of barbells from their neatly aligned placement. It was a moment she used to brace against the rack as she pretended to ponder which ones to take. It afforded her barely more than a few seconds of relief before she pulled herself away from the rack.

She went to stand on the mat, setting her feet shoulder width apart. They were perhaps heavier than they needed to be but without Norsil here to drill her, she was left to her own devices and she wasn't about to... Her eyes were drawn to Hux, he was chugging down water, she was watching the bottle slowly begin to empty. Crystal clear... She bet it was cool.... A wonder that still amazed her. Man's triumph over nature was the power of temperature control. Not only of the air itself but such things as water. When she first had a glass of cold water, she had thought she'd never tasted anything so wondrous. That had been at Maz's bar on Takodana.

The option was almost too tempting as he spilled a wash of it across his heaving chest, wetting the fabric refreshingly to his skin, but he wouldn't do so with all of it. 

Though her arms worked, displaying the swell of muscles in her biceps, the firm definition in her forearms, her strong, sure grip - Norsil still would have screamed at her to focus but her eyes were trained on Hux, watching in mute horror as he spilled water over his chest, still heaving from his cardio exertions. His vest dampening, the white fabric growing translucent, clinging to his torso, exposing a great deal of detail and definitio- her cheeks flushed, turning her head away abruptly, staring straight ahead. That is, until he crossed into her line of sight.

He left the rest, walked closer to the track, closer to Rey, setting it down at the side as he found her face with his eyes. A silent offer, if she understood it as one.

It took far more self control than she would have guessed to not simply drop the weights and run to the bottle. She stooped to lower them to the floor before crossing the running track. Hux was already moving away, heading towards more equipment in the center. Norsil hadn't started her on such things... She watched curiously as she began to slowly unscrew the cap of her water.

Hux clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the slick fabric on his gloved hands. He should not forget the reason he had come, even with her playfulness, his childlike tendency not to drop a game once it had begun. He found a set of still rings. A place to start with the strength of his upper body, he supposed. Stretching himself, he began to pull into a rhythm, lifting his body by the arms, lifting his legs until they were horizontally in front of him. He was sitting on air. He lifted them up and down. Up and down. Breathing in and out. In and...

The datapad near his cape made another vibration, indicating another notification. Hux shook his head, still controlling his breathing. Whatever it was... he could wait. Was Rey watching? Where was she? He looked around him. Why did he get the feeling that she had not yet finished playing?

His display was impressive. Showing a great deal of control and technique. Not to mention just raw... Strength. Her lips twisted to the side, taking a drink as she continued to watch. She shouldn't. What he did was not of her concern at all. Yet she wanted to try... Could she manage to do as he was? An idea crept into her head. This was not Jakku.... Yet it still felt like a sin.... She drank her fill, surprised to find that there was still some water remaining in the bottle. She drew a deep breath, raising the bottle above her head. It spilled over her upturned face, pulling her sweat soaked hair into order, running in rivulets down her bared throat, soaking into her shirt, making the fabric stick to the curve of her chest and her narrow waist. She dropped the bottle, casually striding over to the climbing station.

She appraised it for a moment before her fingers dropped to her hemline. With so much water, she won't make it to the top and she had no intention of using the harnesses. She lifted her hands, pulling the sopping shirt off and dropped it, too. She bounced lightly from one foot to the other, as if to shake off the extra droplets of water. She took a few deep, quick breaths, backing up away from the simulated cliff climbing structure. She'd already charted her path, she could see her way.... She kicked off her shoes, flexing her bare toes.

She ran forward, leaping at the last moment, hands grabbing the holds, her feet gripping the other protruding hold - the leap had ensured she hadn't had to start climbing from the very bottom. She made good progress, a combination of leaping and climbing - rising quickly. Going well. Til her leg started to tremble, missing a step - perilously close to the very top. She gasped, swinging from one arm - pain wrenching up her arm, stabbing into her shoulder. She managed to twist, her back to the structure - she could see Hux down below. White and red in a field of blackness.

It took her a few moments, her chest heaving. She grits her teeth but manages to grin, lifting her free arm in a small wave before re-establishing her grip. Then... She drew her own legs up - not nearly quite so smoothly as he had managed, nor as straight. Never the less, with a small kick and the use of her strengthening core, she lifted her legs, kicking them back over her head - presenting a very short handstand on the edge of the structure before settling herself atop of it, sitting on her knees.  
She shifted once more, legs dangling over the edge, kicking her feet freely. Were it not for the lack of sun on her face, she might have thought she had just climbed her first dreadnought to the very top of its crashed hull.

He swung his lower half, hand-standing in the air. He let himself down, his arms trembled with the pressure of a slow descent, his gloved hands had a lethal grip on the rings. It was gentle... yet holding the full intensity of his entire weight. Control. Stress. Release. Sweat ran in tiny rivers over his features. Silence... until he heard the scuffling above him. The toes of his immaculate black shoes gently met the floor. He lifted his eyes, all the way up the towering climbing-simulation wall to see... her limbs perched at the top, shining in the pale sterile lights. Shimmering, coated in the sheen of water... her warm flesh exposed and shirt and shoes discarded.  
Something about the height makes her feel... Jubilant. And.... also worried. Now that she had stopped... She chewed her lip, peering down over the edge. How.... Is she going to get down?

He blinked. He had been so occupied that he hadn't noticed until she was up there. Soaked. He had rarely seen a woman in anything less than an infallible suit of polished armour or a tight uniform running up to a high collar in the entirety of his life. Yet, just as she was different to any he had known previously in her rebellious nature, she was just as bold as he was in this moment; lacking the propriety that would have been expected of both of them, especially himself. He realised, peculiarly, he would have been disappointed if she had acted differently or done anything otherwise.

That was when he noticed her darting eyes, her furrowed brow as she surveyed all of the floor so far away, it must have seemed, below her. He smiled to himself. He knew in an instant. His gift for reading others let him know: she couldn't get down. She wasn't wearing a harness... He paced around the structure. A cat watching a bird in a tree. How much fun was he willing to have with her? How much time would he spend away from what waited outside that slick, dark, large room of child-like adventures and obstacles. She had ignited his more playful and competitive nature after he had successfully made her jump. He remembered the night of the Vorkenna ball. He had been only too happy to play her hero once, until he discovered the truth that made them enemies.

He cracked his knuckles. He could just toss her a harness. Push over the crash mat and leave it at that, but the temptation...the temptation to impress and amaze her, to show her his true strength, to splash that colour of excitement upon his blank walls... he nevertheless took a harness in his hand, slung his arm through the loops and pushed forward the crash mat with a kick. A precaution as he took some steps back to prepare himself.

Dr. Minsk and Dr. Harrol had spent more than a few hours collectively speaking to both Rey and Norsil about her training. It was often a bore, something Rey tuned out. It was more, she was sure, a matter of interest for him as her trainer to ensure that she didn't damage... First Order property. That's what she was, now, right? Property? A piece of equipment. She had no control over herself in this place.

Even the Force had abandoned her. In the quiet moments of the night when she was left to her own devices, she would lay in bed, trying to connect with the Force, to feel it twisting and bending, woven into everything but... Nothing. Searching for Ben... Only a heart rending silence. An absence of his presence that opened a void in her chest into which hope and light escaped.

One thing she did recall hearing, however, was the dangers of her new spine. A rather expensive and brilliantly designed piece of brand new technology. Often in the early hours of the morning when sleep still clung heavily to her bleary eyes, she wished they would just take it out and let her die so she could sleep for just a bit longer, was that because of its revolutionary development - there were dangers associated with it. Too new to know all of the dangers, of course. She felt often like a ticking bomb. One of their warnings, was the compression of the vertebrae and until the supporting muscle tissues were fully healed - to avoid... More acrobatic training maneuvers. It wasn't organic. Where a normal human spine may crumple and break under the force of an unexpected or poorly executed landing - hers had the potential to lock into place, forming a spear that could easily tear free. Assuming that it did not cause instantaneous brain death through piercing damage, could rip free and leave her as little more than a paralyzed mass of limp meat and bone.

A fate that was to be avoided at all costs. For all of their sakes. That part, she assumed was meant for each other and Norsil. How angry would their emperor be if after all the time and money invested into this little project, she failed to stick her landing and was rendered useless? There had been times when it had been tempting to try... A final act of rebellion.

Yet, all but the warning were far from her mind at the moment - caught in the simultaneous elation of a playfulness she had not thought she could have encountered here... Let alone with... Him. And right alongside the elation was threaded . She had gotten to her knees, shuffling around, trying to pick the easiest path down. A feat made more difficult as she realized that Hux was approaching - finished with his exercise on the rings. He was pacing around the base of the structure. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She would just... Be slow. Slow and careful. There was no reason to panic, she assured herself. She watched curiously as he kicked over the crashmat. No. She couldn't just... Before slinging a harness over his shoulder. What was he doing?

He made a run for it. His feet leaping to the holds, he fled up the structure, ready in a mere minute to jump upon her. Her brow furrowed, watching as he took a few steps back. She could only stare, watching him as he ran and leapt, masterfully catching himself on the wall, feet planted firmly. He didn't know and didn't care if he would alarm her. He slipped only once, nearing the top, his hand reaching to catch himself, his progress only halted for a small, hair-raising second before he pulled his body upward with heavy breaths, and fell next to her. He was still smiling and almost chuckled with the exhilaration of attempting to shock her twice with what she wouldn't expect. The unexpected was the only way he might sometimes survive a life built entirely on order, empty rooms and routines.

Hux was adept. Fast, even! So incredibly fast! She couldn't help herself, staring over the edge, her fingers gripping the ledge tightly as her nerves began to get the better of her. She saw him slip - her gasp was loud, eyes wide as she stared in shock but also fright! Her heart was beating far too quickly. It was with relief that she sank back on her knees as he caught himself, pressing her hands to her face. Strange... Ought she not to have hoped for his demise?

In another few seconds he had pulled himself atop of the structure alongside her with enough vigor to make her jump. Admiration of his skills was brushed broadly across her features - still wide eyed from that moment of terror spliced in amongst it. Her eyes traversed up his arms, the scars littering his skin, up the side of his neck to the smile on his face as he lay panting, trying to catch his breath. Her own expression was soft, observing him for a few moments longer than she ought to have... This smile was... Not twisted with cruelty. It seemed... Genuinely joyful. Almost out of place for what she had come to expect from him. Her eyes roamed further up the fine sculpt of his face, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, a faint blush spilling across her cheeks as she snapped her gaze away, staring back down at the floor.

He caught his breath for some seconds, casting his eye over the landscape of her face and the slender definition of her muscles. She was a sight for sore eyes, -he had always thought so. His smile faded. He wanted to run his gloved fingers over the smoothed landscape of her tanned cheek as he had done when she awoke. He lifted his hand, came closer to touching her knee from his lying position but... He resisted. She had more strength, more sense than before, and he was too tired to test it, to pull himself against the current of his logic. He wasn't here to have fun, was he? He gave her the harness instead. He would make the rough way down. Just for the sake of his own thrill. His own fearlessness.

The straps of the harness crossed into her view and she took them, glancing back at him, the heat in her cheeks had become uncomfortable, twisted with a conflict she couldn't begin to explain.

“If you don't have hands to catch you... you mustn't climb so far.” He teased.

There was something in the way those words had escaped his lips. He was not used to the flirtatious aspects of his manipulative art until he had presented such a tone for his purposes and realised it after. Was he the hands to catch her? He supposed so. There was a threat in it. She could climb as high as she wanted, but she would not escape him, even with her process of healing, unless he elected to let her go.

Her lips barely parted, her mind trying to make sense of the myriad of complexities growing in her mind like frost spreading over a windowpane. Her thoughts had only barely composed a possible retort when he had gotten to his feet, a progress she had only watched with an intensity almost reaching the point of blatantly staring. The truth was... He had surprised her. On... Too many levels for her to be entirely at ease with. She was trying to process what was transpiring. What WAS transpiring? She knew better than to be lulled into any sort of... Genuine sympathies, she told herself, look at what he had done... To her. To Ben…

Her hair was drenched, yet the strands would still dance over the blades of her cheekbones contrasting with the delicate flesh of her cheek. He couldn't help himself. He tucked a strand behind her ear, retreating quickly in case she should retaliate. To her own surprise, she had not flinched away. Nor had she reached to stop him. The heels of his shoes neared the edge of the top platform. He didn't need to look to see that the crash mat was out and ready for him. He suppressed the slight tension, the part of his human nature, begging him to stay put with another, almost boyish grin. That night in Vorkenna... where she had caught him in the air. Saving his life...

This seemed an entirely different man altogether. From the instant they had begun to run together... He didn't think further. He fell backward. It looked, perhaps deliberately, like an accident, but like most of his theatrics, it was purely facade. He had planned it well. And then he was free falling. She scrambled forward, barely managing to catch herself on the ledge, reaching for his falling form.

"HUX!!!!!" She screamed, panic had exploded into her voice, cracking it open as she stared down, pale faced over the ledge - heart leaping to her throat as she watched him land. She felt as if she had ran a marathon in the matter of a few seconds - almost dizzy as her heart rate spiked.

He remembered the best possible landing positions in the milliseconds that flew past him, the air temporarily escaping his lungs. He had to make do with landing directly on his back. He smacked upon the cushioned, but firm plastic feeling of the mat. It took a moment to resister the ache, but he was still smiling as he cleared his mind, trying to re-animate himself. He chuckled softly. Getting his feet, barely even bruised.

“Enjoy the landing!” He called, only slightly mockingly, dusting himself off.

With a small growl, she shook her head, eyes dropping to the harness in her lap, hands hastening to attach it to its safety locks, slipping her legs into it, quick maneuvers tightening it around her hips. She'd had to make her own harnesses in the past - once again she found herself begrudgingly admiring the ingenuity of the First Order engineers. They made it simple, easy... Within moments she was rappelling down the side of the structure with ease - though the tensioning of the rope against her palm rubbed a burning red mark across the flesh. For a moment, she found herself wishing for gloves of her own as she quickly made her descent.

The vibration again. He could somehow hear it, even from the other side of the room. He turned his head to the cloak he threw off. The datapad... he was getting carried off by a dream. A dream separate from the rest of the ship. He swallowed. Neared the device, removing the heaviness of his abandoned garment from the smooth screen. He took it up in his hands, swiftly turning it on and fixing in wireless earpieces from his pocket in his ears. The notification: some mysterious footage. Hux sighed, drawing his arm over the sweat of his brow. He opened the link. He thought nothing of there being no accompanying message, no explanation of what it might be. For all he knew it could be a record of progress, some recent propaganda film or something of the like.

She grinned, the closer she got to the ground - preparing to give chase, hastily freeing herself from her harness. But the grin soon faded, her eyes falling to Hux. He was standing some feet away, datapad held in his hands.

"Hux?" His posture had changed. A rigidity... A lack of motion entirely as if he were cut from marble rather than composed of flesh and bone. He didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge her existence. She took a step to the side, expression softly querying. His eyes were glued to the screen, tiny speakers tucked into his ears. The air had been pushed from the room. All the levity had faded... Her heart sank, moving off to the side. She should... She should continue her... He had gone a distinct shade of white, moving beyond almost green. Trembling... Curiosity wanted to draw her closer but...

He grew still, again, all at once. That smiling man before had faded away. This...This was the emperor once more. Her intrusion wouldn't garner anymore than harsh words or.... worse. She stood, wavering slightly - torn between two instincts. Watching with a growing sense of dread.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be a good opportunity to state that Of Our Past, a Better Future runs concurrently to this fic! <3
> 
> This chapter in particular relates to: Chapter six: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888418/chapters/46003144   
> To start Of Our Past, a Better Future from Chapter one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888418/chapters/44834416
> 
> Double post this week because of simultaneous flow ;D

_ Soldiers of the First Order! _

He paused. He didn't recognise that voice... it sent a chill down his spine. He cast his eyes to the screen. That dismal face, framed by a large mane of black hair, the line of his scar dividing his eyes, like deep wells. He stood directly next to that woman, the woman with... no eyes at all, in something mimicking First Order Uniform. He almost dropped the device. Kylo. Kylo and Vysera.

Instantly, all his attention was fixed upon the video. In a mere second, he was an empty vessel, watching numbly, without a presence, a voice in this scene. Where was this?! He didn't check for a date. He needed the location... His brow was furrowed. He felt as light as a feather. He reached out as if to balance on a wall but he wasn't near enough for that. Any colour in his face he had obtained from exercising was drained completely, leaving him a shade of pale green.

_ That is what some of you are. Loyal, dedicated... Believing of a cause far greater and larger than yourselves! _

Everything inside of him stopped. He wasn't a man. He wasn't present. He registered the sound, his mind working to translate the language into clarity. Where was this...?

_ The others are filthy traitors. _

He could finally recognise a heat, in the back of his throat. A sour taste. Don't do this, he wanted to plead, but he would not... would never plead to the likes of her... He already knew what she would say.

_ Following an illegitimate self-proclaimed usurper! He does not sit on The Ordinance as a loyal servant to your TRUE SUPREME LEADER! _

Illegitimate... Hux was shaking. Self-proclaimed... The WRETCH! Hux was burning all over, his skin flushed a brilliant scarlet from being totally colourless in seconds, as his grip on the screen tightened. It hadn't quite sunk in that this was real. It couldn't be. He began to occupy the thought that it could be some elaborate joke, or a trick, sent directly to himself and only himself. If it was some joke... he would slaughter the bearer of such a punchline. How long ago had this-? His thought was cut short.

_ Yet all of you... Loyalists and traitors alike are guilty... Those of you who are loyal to the Supreme Leader but have not yet risen against the bastard Emperor have followed his orders. _

The words shot needles through his armour, through his skin of iron. The bastard Emperor... she was cutting through him like butter before an audience.

_ Traitors and loyalists together, you are witness to a historical day.... The First Order revives its Inquisitional forces and I am the first. Already I have been hard at work in the service of the Supreme Leader. Already you stand, ready to face your punishment... I know what is in your minds... In your hearts... _

The camera was cut into the perspective of a different lense. The stormtroopers below were presented to him. What happened next did not make Hux draw away his eyes. He didn't blink. Didn't move an inch. He was fixed there. Watching it unfold, watching it open like a deep, crimson blossom of disgust.

_ You cannot hide what is written in your soul! The Inquisitor sees all! It will be you who carries a message to your false emperor! You will make him see! _

He had stopped trembling. Like watching an enormous ship crashing into another. A natural disaster. A spectacle created for him of his squirming followers reduced to meat, clambering like ants amongst the dead and dying. It was odd. He knew he should be repulsed, he should be outraged beyond any anger he had felt before, but he felt... nothing. As if he too was a slab of meat. Immobile. He knew the feeling well: his last line of defence. His final acceptance he had learned even from his powerlessness in early childhood: the ability to turn numb, watching the blood and bone and... flesh just unfold.

The camera divided. Vysera on one side, the carnage on the other. Was that figure, the figure behind her... Hux’s eyes narrowed. Morran?! Hux knew him... He was... Why was Morran even there?! It was obvious then: the outpost in question. The troops... years of training, shaping, intricate building work was swept over by the hurricane of insanity, left as a wasteland of nothing. Nothing but blood. The trooper’s savage wills were not their own, no doubt... They were... creating something, he knew. What of the Supreme Leader himself? He would not move. Stony and empty, Hux knew his disbelief. It was disbelief. Hux was sure it was. The piece of the puzzle he would survey later, but couldn't yet bear to roll over in his thundering, collapsing, writhing thoughts.

_ You who serve your true master.... Will send this message to the imposter.... He will know that his time is drawing to a close. When it is time - you will rise up in defense of your Supreme Leader!!!!! _

The video froze. Was it over? The frozen image:

_ ALL _

 

_ HAIL _

 

_ REN _

Quiet. The voice cut out. He was made of air. No floor to stand upon, yet heavy. Heavier than ever before. _ ‘Illegitimate self-proclaimed usurper’ _ . It was fine. Just quiet. Just fine. He need not worry. He just needed to think carefully.  _ ‘The bastard Emperor _ ’. Just fine. Why were his thoughts lapsing like that? Repeating. Repetition. The tearing bodies.  _ ALL HAIL REN _ . Was he breathing fast? No. He was just imagining this. It was mistaken for misinforming him. It was so quiet. He raised fingers to pull away the earpieces. He knew that wasn't true. His hands trembled. No. Not trembled. Why should he tremble? But he was. It was an earthquake that only he could feel in the quiet. So quiet.  _ ‘False emperor _ ’. He was trembling. ‘ _ Weak willed boy…’  _ He shut out the image, shutting down the data pad. Calmly. Perfect calm. Perfect quiet...

_ ‘Bastard’ _ . His fingers fidgeted inside of the gloves. Bastard... His face was hot again but he shivered.  _ BASTARD! _

Hux threw the data pad against the wall...

The color came flooding back. Animated suddenly and violently - the datapad soared across the gym, shattering to pieces against the wall. Rey gasped, taking a step back, eyes wide.

He stumbled backward and suddenly peace was disturbed and the quiet was gone and he was roaring, roaring into the abyss that had challenged him with what he was a fool not to have uncovered. There was no safety, there was no peace and he should have known there wouldn't be under his reign. Everything he touched burned his intrusive skin and left him blistered, desperate, weak for trying, torn apart for being brave too long- the galaxy, the gods, the force, all three were NO EXCEPTION! He was hated...

He howled, his balance lost, he fell into a rack of weapons. Knocking them to the floor, his screams tore on, obliterating everything in his wake, his arms were thrown into a whirlwind of his own around him, attacking everything in sight, the weapons clattering, obstacles in the course being turned over. He was relentless, restless, energised, he was ready! The damn bastard was ready! The BASTARD! BASTARD!

Perhaps he was screaming the word. He would not be able to call to mind what he had screamed, only that it went on. An alarm. Sound the troops! Raise the fire! Gather the forces of the false Emperor, of their KING! Let them beg, let them grovel before him, for he would not repent, he would not stop, not be released, never have peace! But war! He was sweating. His old, dear friend! He felt faint. The Great War that had built him had returned to his arms to rip and bite his thin, pale flesh and he would welcome it. Yes! Welcome it! Let there be WAR! Let there be BLOOD! His heart was speeding. And let him be both feared and himself afraid! For this was what was destined... and for all the power in the galaxy he possessed, he owned... nothing.

His lips parted - wordless howls of rage filled the gym and she found herself searching for the exits - his primal fury pitted against her survival instincts.

His screams had gained shape. Form. BASTARD!!! BASTARD!!! He screamed again and again, ripping apart the gym around him. Scattering weapons, overturning equipment. She swallowed hard, her pulse racing. Tears had sprung to her eyes as she watched. There was more than anger. More than a visceral need to expel his terrible temper. Was it... Fear? Pain? It ghosted over her skin, the scorching heat of his ire. A crackling of sensation of genuine horror that made the fine hairs along her neck stand on end. Was this... The Force? Could she feel this because the Force had finally allowed her to connect with it again - so stirred by the turbulence of his emotions, this storm of chaotic emotions? Or was it simply her own that she felt?

"Hux! Stop!" Her own cry of alarm barely audible over his own incessant screams. "Please! You're going to get..." Hurt. She should leave him. Let him injure himself. Maybe he'll go too far, maybe he'll take himself out of her misery. The darkness allured to her, a cool numbness waiting at the door, waiting to be let in - it promised to take away her anxieties, this restless fear, the uncertainty. He's so unprepared, so distracted - she could easily take up one of the fallen weapons. Finish it! It beckoned, a tapping at the door, a cool hand on the knob. Just a turn, just a twist... Revenge... For what he's done! DO IT!!!

He knew it was illogical for her protests to enrage him further. Yet how... How did she even find the nerve to treat the likes of him like a child?! Because she had seen his thoughts?! Because she thought that because he had showed her mercy and humanity this gave her leave to trample over him, self-righteous, ungrateful, little desert rat that she was?! Well he was not a child! He was not prey upon his own platter to be picked at by the knives of those still more powerful than he! He! The emperor! Who should have been the most powerful in the entire galaxy, so soon threatened to be torn away from him. The ruthless year after ruthless year of painful, merciless, agonising progress he had worked like a slave, like a prisoner, to build, -threatened to be taken by one, single swipe of a ruthless, force-using devil in a whore’s skin! A snake! A snake they all were! And Rey... another thorn in his side, another chain, another earthly thing to bind him down to his weaknesses!

She lunged for him, trying to catch his arms in hers. She bound him physically. Her arms locking over his, drawing him from the wall. He turned his attention from his own rage, however briefly, just to rip himself away, falling away he staggered back, a couple of paces between them. He looked her in the eyes.

"Stop! Please stop!!!" She grunted, desperation and concern both bleeding into her voice as she struggled against his far too strong frame.

He hoped his single look could silence her. She could never know... when it was best to just shut her mouth and let... _GO!_ His voice became a thunder as he growled at her, beyond speech. He took a stance, if she moved even an inch closer... He did not know if he could be stopped. He was still feverish, his face still hot to the touch, he felt as if anything he might touch could burn, or burst into flames. His screams had died at her protests... his fingers itched... He took a step towards her, his hand raised…  

His rage was like a fire. For being insensitive to the Force, his anger had a profound effect on it. For a moment, she imagined if he could call on the power that danced around him, wavering like a current - how formidable he would be... But she was grateful that he couldn't. As it was, Rey could feel his fury as it rippled over her skin. Blistering. It felt as though her flesh was peeling and splitting. He freed himself of her grip, throwing her arms away as he pulled away. His steps were staggered, unsteady. Distance.

 

She swallowed hard, her voice falling away as he glowered at her. Her eyes widened, her lower lip trembled for a moment before she caught it between her teeth. No. She would not... He growled at her, a snarling beast. Her pulse beat frantically in her veins, the side of her throat felt as though it throbbed with the fear seeping into her blood. His body moved, taking on an aggressive stance. She didn't dare move, afraid that he would give chase if she were to run.

 

His face, a scarlet flush - warring with the orange red of his hair. Never had she seen pale eyes, so icy turn to flame. At her uttered protests, he stepped closer - raising his fist. She flinched, in spite of her best efforts. 

“Foolish GIRL!” He howled at her. “You know NOTHING!”   


He did not strike her. Weapons had scattered upon the floor. He kicked at them, charged upon the obstacle course, wrecking the space. He could believe that he might explode like a grenade, obliterating everything in his wake.

A breath of relief escaped her lips as he refrained from laying his rage upon her body - instead, he laid his assault on the weapons strewn across the floor. Adrenaline left her limbs shaking as he stalked to the obstacle course, laying it to waste. She was becoming shy to pain. A brittle thing. Cowed by aggression. How will she be able to get away to find Ben if she is so easily crushed? Thoughts for later... Thoughts for when she wasn't worried that he might finish the job he started on her…

“Don’t EVER touch me again!” Hux spat, he hit anything in proximity with his fists, his knuckles wet with blood, even from under his gloves.

She wouldn't. Her jaw worked, tongue moving nervously across her lower lip. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't... Wouldn't dream of it, but her voice failed her. Perhaps it was for the better. She drew her arm across her chest, gripping her bicep. She was retreating within herself, trying to make herself as small as possible. She had only meant to stop him from... Injuring himself. Something that she had failed to do. Smudges of crimson left on the surfaces he punished with his knuckles. It was too much to process. The sudden change... Whatever it had been on that datapad... Her eyes strayed towards the wall, it's dimmed, shattered screen laying on the floor.

She found it hard to swallow. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Were they for him? For her? It hardly mattered. In spite of how still, how silent she remained, his attention had come back to her. She wanted to close her eyes to him. It hurt to see him like this. Anyone, for that matter... He was shaking, rage and fire still coursing in his veins. He met her gaze. Why should it hurt? That scathing... She took a step back, and another. Her face frozen in a mask of... Nothingness.

Numbness had soaked into her skin.

He reached to his eyes, feeling the sting of... of... tears. Tears?! Weakness! Weak-willed! Thin as a slip of paper... why were these words returning to him now? He felt...poisoned. As if he Hux wanted to sink away, but not before he had expelled his rage upon what couldn’t fight back. He could understand Kylo’s need to destroy... however much it used to infuriate him. It soon wore off, however. He was... undignified. He was wild... no more of that! No more weakness! He must be a wall himself. Solid and unbreakable and numb- exactly what he was taught. Not in Rey’s presence, however. No, she would not melt him with her flame.

He straightened. He tried to stop shaking. Looked back to Rey’s eyes. He wanted, in his single stare, to let her know that what she had seen; what was human and what had laughed and pranked her like a child... was a happy lie that he could not and would not live again. He cast his eyes down, turning away.

Suddenly passion of any kind had no place within him. He was sure the data pad was smashed beyond repair and did not return for it. Instead, he elected to march from the room, picking up his robes on the way. He found a small, new communication device lodged in another pocket. Already he had been alerted by his fellow officers and asked what should proceed in a flurry of panicked messages. Hux felt something sink in his chest. He changed from holding all the fire of a thousand suns to lacking energy of any sort in the matter of a minute. How many officers knew?! How many had seen already?! Was it not just a private and direct message to Hux? No. No... this had squirmed its way up the ranks…

He stalked out of the gym leaving her alone. After a moment, after the doors had closed. She felt almost as though she could move. She peeled her hand from her arm, leaving behind a perfect imprint of her palm. She didn't realize she had been gripping so hard.

She stared at the chaos he had left in his wake. Drawing a deep breath, she made herself move. Stooping to collect the weapons from the floor, straightening the stand he had pushed over. Setting the gym to rights. She was alone. With that last look, he had made it quite clear. That brief glimmer of... Joy? Playfulness? Humanity... Was gone. The Emperor had returned with a vengeance and she... Was simply to be a cog in the machine.

She collected her damp shirt from the floor where she'd thrown it. She brought it back to the site of his destruction. She lifted it to the blood stains he had left behind. The corners of her lips felt heavy. Her... Entire being felt weighted with... Misery. It was easier, if she just focused on the task at hand. She erased the signs of his outburst, careful to make everything was perfect once more. Maybe... If there were no signs, she might be able to return here each day to train without panicking.

"That's not likely..." She muttered to herself, staring down at her bloodied shirt. There are now too many things she would very much like to forget in this gym. .Savagely she pushes the box out of the middle of the running track. As if he had never been here. Just a mirage. A figment of her imagination. She froze, the sound of the door opening. Had he returned for anoth-

Norsil.

She resists the urge to rush to him, to throw her arms around him and weep with relief. His posture was grim. If he seemed surprised to see her having stripped out of her shirt, he was well schooled enough to not show it.

"Back to your room. Training is over for today."

She nodded, slipping the cold clinging material on over her shoulders - uncomfortable as it was, she'd prefer to wear it than the stares of passing stormtroopers.

~

Hux’s pace was fast through the corridors of the Ordinance. Why did he feel... who was watching him-? He turned to stare back at some passing stormtroopers but they hadn’t been looking at him in the first place... even if they had, Hux was aware that it was hardly his usual...attire. He shamed himself for how wet, how sweaty and exposed he was. What was he thinking?! He was losing grip on... on everything. His bottom eyelid began to twitch as if his body wished for him to close his eyes. No time for sleep this night. He would work himself to the bone yet again... He was tempted to put the robe back on... but perhaps even for him it would be too uncomfortable, until he was allowed to change... if he had the time. There seemed to be no time at all, just after unlimited hours that could have been spent just for once over pleasure instead of pain and humiliation.

He scrolled through messages and names, Opan’s name, among them, called for his attention.

ENCRYPTED MESSAGE: PRIORITY DELIVERY TO EMPEROR HUX

 

Emperor Hux,

Might I be so bold as to suggest we obliterate the outpost at the nearest opportunity?

 

Hux may have found him hard to trust, but there was no doubting a good decision. He responded immediately to confirm such an order. This event didn’t exist. Niether did the outpost, the area, or the planet it happened on. The disease couldn’t spread. Hux was also sure to ask... how many officers had truly seen the footage? Opan’s response was quick, as if he had been waiting for Hux’s response for the past thirty minutes. All of them had seen. Hux felt it again. The weight of a stormtrooper’s gaze.

He lifted his sharp eyes, ready to stab the onlooking soldier with a scowl only to glimpse... the shine of a silver suit of armour. But that’s... he blinked. That’s impossible. He lifted his hand to massage his brow. When he looked up once more...

It... No, she... was gone.

 

~

 

He gripped his leather-clad hands. He stared into the dark spaces between the stars outside of the wide window. He was wringing his hands and feeling the stretching of the tight confines of fabric. He didn't hear Opan approach. His footfall somehow light, despite the heavy leather boots he wore. Stealth that Hux knew he and the majority of officers had mastered over years of time. Hux had at least managed to shower away the sweat from the gymnasium before slipping into the clinical yet oddly comforting restrictions of a set of new white robes. A meeting, undoubtedly, was declared by himself minutes later, and he had no doubt that Opan had come to inform him that the planet in question had been exterminated. The weapon used was modelled on the smaller and more dated prototypes of the Death Star era, yet so long as it had done the job...

“Is it done?” Hux wanted to confirm.

A swift salute and Opan gave a small nod.

“Destroyed,” he answered aloud, “but not wiped clean.”

Hux turned to him questioningly, his eyes narrowed... his hands still grasping each other...

“Eliminate the threat now, my lord.” Opan suggested. “The Order respects you. Show them how you deal with signs of opposition. You're... good at that.”

His tone was deadpan. His gloved hand came to his shoulder. That same shoulder where Hux had shot him. Hux stared silently. The situation was somehow... fragile. Awkward, perhaps. Shards of glass balanced on top of each other in a constructed tower that was destined to collapse. The two of them alone was somehow... Hux shook his head. He was growing more and more paranoid by the second.

“You're dismissed.” He told him. “I will arrive shortly. I want the meeting recorded, and I want the others to be ready and waiting when I get there. If I hear any trace of rumour or squabble before I arrive, I will have the ringleader of the unauthorised discussion spending the next fortnight in a cell, do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

With that, Opan turned on his heel, and left, as smoothly as a shadow. Hux felt a chill down his spine, though he had no reason for it. One moment alone, to gather his breath, his words, his senses... but time couldn't be wasted. Two minutes, and he followed through dark corridor after dark corridor. Strangely empty. He thought of the silver suit of armour, only to dismiss it immediately a second later. A trick of his lack of sleep. Not that he was likely to get any substantial hours of rest for likely the next few weeks.

He was relieved not to hear a sound as he approached the boardroom. Composed... he shouldn't be nervous. He shouldn't be nervous... he shook his head. No repetition. No... They were sitting at the table. Pieces on a chessboard. Hux took his place before them, but would not sit. His hands planted on the table with a somehow startling slam in the silence.

“Nothing changes.” Hux begins, his voice a blade cutting the empty air.

The officers stare at him. Waiting for him to expand... or perhaps brimming with complaints, arguments, yet not being allowed to speak... the tension between each of them is like a water level rising. It will drown them all, if Hux lets it.

“Need I remind you,” Hux continues, stopping his leaning on the table and beginning to pace in a circuit, “of our living in fear? Around this table, within the entirety of our Order, are we not all human?”

There are some quiet sounds of agreement.

“Are we not ALL men for whom this force, this... invisible power has been, and still is, fed to us to make us submit?! To make us SLAVES?!” He comes to a heavy stop.

An empty seat... that in this case of an emergency gathering would have been filled by Commandant Morran. The elephant in the room. Hux takes the chair, and throws it in one sweeping motion. It clatters harshly, somehow deafeningly against the wall.

“Well I WILL NOT SUBMIT!” Hux shouts. “Not at the VERY first sign of them growing desperate- watching a mere man like each of you ascending to the throne...”

He takes a second to compose himself yet again, before continuing his circuit.

“The power is in OUR hands, gentlemen.” Hux announces, his rage fuelling strength. “OUR hands, because we have WORKED for it! Working day and night! Worked out minds and hearts until they have grown raw, just to climb these unjust, wretched stars, to find a seat at this table, to stand in the place of an Emperor, and an Emperor who has used his skills and nerve to come here! I have not used the tools with which I was born. It might surprise you all to know that I was not fed with a silver spoon. I did not come to where I am, because of my foul blood, or a supposedly divine birthright, a birthright that, in its very nature is smeared with the treachery of our enemy’s arrogant little princess! And never again will I surrender to a wrinkled corpse who can throw us and beat us with a wave of his hand! Never again will I submit to A WHIMPERING DOG of a boy with MAGIC TRICKS!”

There's an uncomfortable shuffle from somewhere in the room. Hux whips around. His burning eyes glower over the men. Now... which one of them is so loyal to a Ren that he felt the need to make his presence known at Hux’s insult? Hux isn't sure. Each of them are far too much like him. Too capable of hiding away. Hux slowly lets it go, continuing his steps, coming from the back of them to the front.

“You heard me correctly.” Hux enforces. “Kylo Ren is an enemy of our empire who used to beat us and choke us, destroying whatever he laid his hands on like the toddler that he was. His slut is even worse. If you submit to her infantile fearmongering, then you might as well submit now, to death. Anyone bearing or supporting the name of Ren is now an enemy. You ALL have my order to kill them. If you hear so much of a whisper in favour of the name of Ren, you have an order from your Emperor to shoot to kill and kill them fast! What Ren has told you is lies! He murdered the Supreme Leader before him, and just like all force users, to be a traitor, when given power, is in his nature. Now, as the footage has shown, he stands by and watches his whore make a show of us, using us like puppets on strings to enact profane and ghastly fantasies.”

He comes to another stop, attempting to hold their attention with movement as well as words.

“As it stands, you needn't fear the scavenger girl.” He adds. “Soon to be my slave and protector, she is a final resort I hope not to put into practice. Still...” he senses unease in the room. He ought to change the subject quickly. “There comes a time when even we may have to fight fire with fire.”

He sighs... almost silently. Coming to the very centre before them.

“We are at war.” He says. The words are nothing small. He has spelled it out for them, now. “Will you be puppets? Slaves? Cowards? Fools? Will you die alone? Or will you fight? Stand with me and FIGHT FOR OUR POWER! STAND WITH ME AND FIGHT TO STAY HUMAN!”

The officers stand from the table, giving quick salutes. The recording is cut. Hux’s breaths are heavy. Now it isn't a show... the officers know as much. They begin to discuss Hux’s new orders. The rules. The punishment for any presentation of support of the name of Ren. On planets as well as within the ship. Discussions... for where they might find the Ren duo next... already assuming that they have survived the outpost’s fiery death.

Hux’s first answering recording is spread over the next few days. He spends his nights... staring over blueprints. They are at war... they need a new weapon. The build of arms grows again, as it always has. Hux must find another solution. He works ceaselessly. He works until his hands and fingers strain from his movements and his eyelids threaten multiple times to fall shut.

At which point, he would load his surveillance... take a drink in hand. Sit upon his throne, and... watch. It was in the middle of the night that he felt most... alone. His thoughts made battle with him. He wouldn't yield to it. Instead he would scan empty corridors over and over... his thoughts made battle... made battle... repetition. Routine. He had been keeping Rey alone. Under no circumstances could she know. With time now running through his fingers, Hux kept her as isolated as possible. Only one, other than the doctors, could visit. Norsil. He would sit. Talk with her. Each day... more... and more... Hux found the audio. His ringed eyes narrowed.  _ Action must be taken... time is running out...  _ he mentions... he is forbidden from telling her. In only another second, Hux caves in. He gives his orders and thinks nothing else of the matter.


	12. Chapter 12

Rey winced, a small hiss of pain as the doctor withdraws the needle from her arm. Minsk... The woman casts her a small apologetic glance before quickly turning away. They don't speak with her. They haven't done. Not in the days that have followed the outburst in the gym. Every morning, she is awake, dressed, and waiting for Norsil to come to escort her via back service maintenance accesses to the laboratory where Dr. Minsk and Dr. Harrol perform their tests and check her vitals. She hadn't seen anyone else. Not a stormtrooper's expressionless mask.... Not an officer and... Not Hux.

Her world shrank down once again to approximately four narrow corridors, a couple hatches, the ladders beneath them and two faces. A third, obscured by a helmet and he was largely unresponsive. Even to greetings, let alone questions on what has happened. She tried not to take it personally, not to think that this was entirely her fault. Hux was upset long before she had laid hands on him, trying to calm him from his raging outbreak. Direct questioning yielded no results. Roundabout queries, to the doctors, to Norsil - what was she being trained for? What was the remaining time frame? What was she expected to do upon completion... They may as well have been crafted from paper or stone.

It meant that by the time she was returned to her quarters... She was... Beyond lonely. Not a word spoken to her by the doctors and Norsil only had the orders of her training for her ears to hear through the almost mechanical garble of the helmet's voice function. The doctors communicated via datapad messages to each other, no sound in the medical ward but the beeps and whirring of the equipment. Small noises, the clatter of instruments in the cleaning trays.... Today was different, Norsil had left her there with the doctors rather than waiting for her to be cleared for training.

"What's...?" She felt fear, to see Dr. Harrol prepping a needle as Dr. Minsk guided her to lay on her stomach on the operating table. Was this because of the pain? Her training regime had been increased. The intensity was, she could only assume, ordered to be more intense. The demands on her performance had more than doubled. As a result, she was left often in tears and in immense pain for which, it seemed there was nothing to be done. Nothing until now, until her back was swollen and her limbs stiff... She could only assume that it was a good sign, however... that she was still being pushed through this grueling routine, that her limits were still being tested and broken... There had to be some reason for it. Why else? Why... If she was simply to die?

She grew nervous. They were clipping her arms and legs into restraints. Efforts to meet their eyes, to get some indication of what was to come... Pointless... Of course... There was nothing for her to do but to rest her face on the table... And wait....

A voice filled the operating theater. A scream, more like. Her own. The pain is excruciating and for several agonizing moments, she thought it would be the last thing she would ever hear... With her head thrown back, she could see in the reflection of the glass panels of the coolant fridges... A long, thick needle piercing the flesh of her back. The doctors kept their eyes rather neutral, the rest of their faces obscured behind masks. A syringe, really, extracting... Fluid... Thick, dark... Blood? Or something worse? She couldn't help it, she couldn't stop... Tears springing to her eyes and quickly racing down her cheeks. Sobbing, screaming! Oh, why wouldn't they deaden the sensation? Her cries quiet down to soft whimpering whines, her head collapsed back onto the cool metal...

It's not long before her stomach is heaving, flailing her hands... One of the doctors appears before her, a bag for her to heave the contents of her stomach into as pain seizes her, her body trying to thrash free - another band of restraint crosses over her shoulder blades. A hand settling on her arm... In comfort? Or warning? She doesn't know... Of course... Of course, she tries to cling to reason, one last thought - a needle near her spine, all those nerves... She mus- She falls into the dark stillness of unconsciousness while the doctors continue to drain the buildup of the mechanical fluids and her body's own attempt to purge the tech. It's not.... An ideal situation... Their eyes meet with each other across her limp form... How long can she last like this? It's the question they don't dare to ask aloud, for fear they are being monitored...

Already too many crew members have been hauled off... disappeared... They'll never be heard from again. So much conversation has been blacklisted. The Ordinance is tense. A load of explosives primed to blow. Suspicion at every turn... Prying eyes... Straining ears... An opportunist's playground... Harrol sighs, shaking his head and Minsk can only nod her agreement.

~  
She's growing stronger and stronger.... She knows this only because she can see it. The creature that stands in her fresher compartment and peers back at her from the mirror is a creature built of muscle and their definition stands out, pronounced and powerful with the lack of body fat. She doesn't recognize her. Gaunt, with cheekbones that cut.... She stares long enough that she thinks her reflection begins to act outside of her own actions. A smirk. A condescending sneer. What are you, little girl, the thing in the mirror asks her.... She doesn't know.

"What AM I?!" She screams, hurling her fists into the mirror. When it doesn't break, when she can't erase that snarling face, those gleaming eyes - she only punishes it harder. Her knuckles smarting with pain. A fracture. A start. She can't stop... She can't stop until she sees the spiderweb like lines split across the surface of the mirror, her knuckles bloodied. It's a violent fight, a struggle... To establish what is real, a desperation to feel... Alive. That she, the one that stands in the fresher is the true face and that thing that stares back at her with an empty, apathetic expression is defeated.

She huddles in the corner of the shower stall, arms wrapped around her legs, sobbing... She doesn't sleep in her bed that night...

~

She doesn't know how long it's been. Her sleep schedule has been interrupted. The training sessions seem to linger for far longer than ever before. She's endured the process of draining the cybernetic component to her spine many more times but at least she can move... It's something that is going to need to be remedied. A redesign. That much, she spied on the screens of the data-pads of the passing doctors when they thought she'd been out completely. It was typed in a report, a request. To whom, she didn't know for certain but she could only imagine the man responsible for her need for it could sign off on such a thing...

Norsil sets a brutal pace. She struggles to keep up for him. Lungs burning, sweat dripping...

They've kept this pace for nearly an hour, she estimated. She's nearly wasted. Already. Or has it been hours? She can't be sure. It's all blurring..

"Please..." She croaks, between aching gasps for air... How can he maintain this pace? Have they replaced Norsil with a droid? A machine? Is she to be taken apart and replaced entirely with metal pieces until that is all she is? She's losing it... Her mind grates on itself until it is raw and rough.... 

"Let's spar..." She begs. She needs to stop, her legs feel as though they've been dipped in fire... She can't take another step...

Rey collapses on the floor, her legs twitching, thrashing uncontrollably as Norsil grabs her under her arms and drags her to the mats. She tries to breathe, she does... Her body is seizing, thrashing violently and he only watches. An impassive helmet observing her.... What could be her death throes! She doesn't understand that medical protocol mandates that she must be taken out of the range of objects that could harm her, that he must abstain from touching her, reaching her.... Lest he endanger himself...

It seems forever until her body has stopped convulsing, til her back relaxes from the painful arch it has curved into and she lays flat on the floor, drenched in sweat. Norsil comes to crouch beside her. Observing, but not touching... Will he speak? She feels like she's dying... She doesn't want to die alone... and alone is exactly how she feels... She reaches for him, her hand shakes, barely moving a centimeter, fingers curling in on themselves and her wrist dragging limply along the floor. Ineffective... She'll never.... reach...

"Time is drawing short..." Norsil states.

What does that mean? She stares up at him. She can't move... Her body is exhausted, her limbs are leaden.

"What is happening?" She whispers, she tastes something sour in her mouth. She can hardly hear over her own pulse. So it's little wonder that the sound of the gymnasium doors sliding open escapes her notice. She can only stare... Stare in confusion as troopers with black shoulder armor enter her sphere of vision. What are they doing here? She hasn't seen them before.... She hears an ungodly sound. Something loud that splits her ears. Something hot splashes across her face and Norsil tumbles forward. He crushes her, his body limp... There's a crimson lined hole in the side of his helmet. Staring at her... An abyss....

H-he's dead! She whimpers. The troopers approach, they're speaking amongst themselves, she can't hear over the screams... Her screams? That pitiful whimpering sobbing? She...What is happening?! She stares up the barrel of the rifle now aimed at her face. A smoking barrel, still glowing from the shot just fired. She's about to die... She's going to die!

She thought she'd face death with dignity when it came... That she'd be on her feet, that she would be fighting when she died... Not trapped on her back, her own body betraying her... Staring helpless at that glowing circle…

"What do you reckon?" One nudges her shoulder with her boot. She looks down at the girl pinned under the now very dead Norsil. Pity. He seemed like a good soldier. Good at his job... Didn't question shit... Minded his own business.

"What do you mean? It was a kill order." The other responds, his voice sounding somewhat bored. Now that this excitement had passed... How useless the executioners felt in peace times... Now their Emperor had declared war. War on all who dared to carry the name Ren or use the Force. Like this one...

"Yeah... So... Where's the killing stop?" She asked, pushing the barrel of the rifle into the girl's neck - listening with apathy to soft sizzling sound and the girl's shriek of pain, watching her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from their corners.

"Hm...."

"They don't seem so terribly dangerous..." She continues, pushing harder. That scream... It's almost enough to elevate her heart rate. Not quite. But almost.

"She's his slave, NV-9814... Emperor's property. I wouldn't want to be taking that shot." He sounds vaguely cautious, helmet lifting to observe their surroundings. The gymnasium is empty but for three of them... And Norsil's corpse. He watches her struggling, trying to wriggle free from the weight that threatens to crush her. Like an insect with a lamed wing, trying to take flight.... Kriffing hell, they're all so bored that something this pathetic could pass as entertainment?

"Maybe... But if they're all such threats... How do we know she's not... Messing with people's heads? Infecting us? Shouldn't we just... Take one for the team? Clean up the mess?" She draws the muzzle of the rifle away from her neck, an angry round circle remains, just below her ear, to the side... Should've done her face... NV-9814 sighs, lifting the rifle to her shoulder, peering down the sights at that frightened, pale face. So helpless... Like a child... It wouldn't be so hard... Save them all a lot of trouble...

"You done playing or what?" He prompts, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

"Nowhere else to be..." She retorts, still viewing her face in her cross-hairs, watching her squeeze her eyes shut. "She should beg for her life..." She drawls... Stupid bitch... Expensive drain on the First Order, from what she's heard from the rumor mill. Emperor's concubine. Except nobody's seen him give her even a second, lingering glance. Nah, she reckons it's something else...

"I reckon she's a Ren." NV-9814 continues, earning herself a shove from her fellow executioner.

"Shut up with that nonsense. Let's go...."

NV-9814 shrugs, pushing the barrel right in close to the girl's eye. Nothing but a gleaming dark halo, like the eyeless socket in Norsil's helmet. She pulls the trigger. Click...

"Pew....." She makes a sound like a rifle and her companion groans, dragging her away.

"Haha.... Oh, man.... Did she piss herself?" NV-9814's chuckle fills the gymnasium as they leave.

~

She had managed to drag herself out of the gymnasium some days ago. 

The exact number of which, she could not recall. She had lost track of time with no one coming to collect her. Every moment ticked away. She adds another mark on the wall. The absence of Norsil's familiar knock. The lack of the medical staff peering over her. She had thought she missed privacy. 

And now she had too much of it.

 

She had never thought she'd get used to the constant medical contact. Stripped down, prodded, and examined. Yet now she was unsupervised and unattended she found herself longing for any sort of contact that was... Just not... Left to her own thoughts, a glowing ember of paranoia sitting atop a stack of ancient parchment...   
Alone.

 

She was not about to leave her room. It was,perhaps foolish, to think that the confines of her quarters could grant her safety... But it was her only hope at trying to curb the mounting levels of anxiety. A futile gesture. Moments not spent pacing, chewing the flesh around her fingernails left her huddled in the corner. No. That corner. This one. It had a better view of the door. 

Or perhaps, in the closet, huddled amongst fabric and leather, pressed in close by the hanging garments, legs pulled up to her chest and sitting in darkness. A scant moment of comfort before the material became the heavy limbs of Norsil crushing her. Strangling restraints to keep her still while imaginary squadron leaders lined up outside the cupboard door to maim her or abuse her... Invade or destroy... 

She burst out of the closet, crawling on her hands and knees, an awkward scrambling motion. Her spine was locking up, more and more. It left her often in a cramped and crippling posture. One that must be pushed out. Leaning back over the edge of the bed, slamming herself into the wall or bracing against the shower door. 

The bathroom mirror remained broken - no maintenance request logged. Better that way, she thinks. No need to see the tiredness in her eyes, heavy and dark beneath vacant brown pools. No desire to see the angry red line down the center of her back. No desire to touch the tender skin, to see it split and leak fluid. Biological or mechanical.

Hunger is the only thing that continued to drag her feet toward the door. To stand there listlessly like a puppet on a limp string. The need to eat. But she was afraid. Outside the door, they could be lined up. Hose at the ready, leering creatures with exposed bodies and cruel executioners ready with glowing rifle barrels. 

Her hand scratched at her neck, as if she could still feel it burning. The volcanic like ridge of angry red blisters given way to scar tissue. Scar tissue that her ragged and uneven nails have not been able to forgive or forget. She whimpered, pulling away from the door with uneven steps. 

Maybe up. She lifts her eyes to the ducting grates. Clean air, mercifully, otherwise she was certain the room would reek. Piped in but... Too small. The panel would only fit her foot. Maybe a hand at best. But her entire body? No. Not unless she shrank away to nothing. There was nothing for it, then. 

She sat, rocking in the corner - the small desk overturned and dismantled. Screws and bolts laid out carefully in a line while she crafted a barricade. The bed frame, the mattress itself... A barrier against the door. Sealed in tight. She was going to die in this room. A forgotten body among millions. No one will even know. She wrapped herself in a sheet, the blankets thrown down in the shower stall. The bathroom door locked. She shivered, pulling the sheet around her tighter, trembling as she curled herself into a small shape in the corner, blending as much as she can into the tiles....

~

Hux had been too busy to watch the death of Norsil from his screen and couldn’t be asked to find the footage. He had been reassured that it was done, and that Rey had been left alive. Hux was slowly crafting his own pile of bodies. Small- but not insignificant. He was disappointed that it was the case: that some were foolish enough to love Ren openly above himself and be taken and slaughtered as a result. What had made Ren so special? The force? He was hardly dedicated to his job- Hux could remember watching the boredom and loss behind his eyes almost every day. Was it because of his supposed reforms? His abandoning his mask as if it could make him... a man like the rest of them? Ridiculous. Hux’s fists clenched at the thought. He had taken to wearing his coronet of gold from Vorkenna. He was a king- why shouldn’t he wear his crown? It was a small comfort- but one that had made him feel stronger day by day.

His plans following that of yet another superweapon had hit a snag. He made calculation after calculation, but his thoughts were slow... He was angered at himself for needing rest. This Order used to be a tower that could never fall. How had it come to this? Now, even after so short a time, there were whispers of the war they had begun to fight. That it wasn’t a war against force users. It was a war with themselves. All constructed by the hollow-eyed witch. Hux gulped. There was something wrong with that woman. Something... perhaps, only comparable with Snoke. The images of those bodies... slick with blood and... and the signs of wild pleasure being let loose with wild rage. It was rage, he was sure. A rage, that she had authored. Hux would rewatch it. Again. He surveyed Ben’s proximity to her. How she had addressed him. His tool... or... more likely, his mistress. Hux had seen her that day in Vorkenna. It was fear in Ben’s eyes that night. Again. He had to close his eyes at the details of the writhing crowd. He had to hum over her insults to his name or he would start trembling again. His lack of sleep had meant that it wasn’t long before he had developed a twitch in his right eye. Again... The days had become... strange. He was absently aware of the threats that had been reported to him. Squabbles between stormtroopers on the streets of cities and planets they occupied. A war indeed...

How had it come to this? Had it come with his rule? Undoubtedly, it had. He began to question... He had felt prepared to rule his entire life. Now he was here, his thoughts turned to his young ambitions and who had witnessed them. The silver suit of armour he had glimpsed haunted him.

Time to put that haunting to rest. The journey there seemed to take a long way. It was something that only Hux had wanted to build and keep. Snoke hadn't cared for it. Ren especially hadn't cared for it. Only Hux had to fight for it, but fight, he did. This ship could at times be a labyrinth. One of the blueprints of his giant war machines. He had to go under. Levels only permitted by the higher ranking members of the Order. It was darker there. Was it night hours for the troops? Hux had lost track. Whatever the case, the space he inhabited was cast in silence.

He came to the entrance of a room. Scanning his eye for verification, the door came open to a silent steel room. An old, electric light flickered on and almost instantly caught...

On the scraps of silver in her suit that remain. The metal plates were suspended. The white lights were cast in strips upon the glass that encases it. No body lay inside. Only half of the silver shined. The rest of it was rusted. Burned, blackened, ashen, fractured. A carcass in itself. Stormtroopers, even squadron leaders... higher ranks who don't make legend were hardly ever remembered.

Yet Hux would not forget. Would never forget... her legend.

He laid his hand on the fragile glass. The leather making a soft press against the surface... clear as water. The black visor of the helmet watched him from behind the divide, absently.

His eyes were sore for him having kept them open, yet he was glad he had come down here instead of sleeping.

There, he told himself. He did not see her armour. Her armour was here. The whole time.

“Hello Captain.” Hux began in a whisper, eyes still locked on the empty, half-melted suit. He knew... they had to pry some pieces from the skin of her corpse. Hux lowered his hands, putting them in his pockets. “I've come...” Hux continued, feeling incredibly foolish, “to tell you...” he sighed, this time with his forehead on the cool glass. Hux sighed. He hated apologies... “I'm sorry.” Hux said anyway, “for you having perished.” He frowned at the damage of the burn marks. “What do you want from me?” He asked her softly. His frown turned into a scowl. “Leave... me alone.” He pleaded her.

Hux realised that if he wanted a reply... he wasn't getting one. How ridiculous of him, to even think for a strange moment in time that the Captain could inhabit the armour again and speak to him. He shook his head, turning from the glass. He suddenly felt he shouldn't have come down there. He felt, illogically, as if he had only helped to release something that couldn't be caught again.

He couldn't afford to think that way. His notifications hours later informed him that Rey without the aid of Norsil, was not conforming to her routine. A droid, Hux realised, might have to be the best substitute, even just as a temporary solution.


	13. Chapter 13

He felt her begin to stir. He remembered this. He reached over. He brought his hands along the landscape of her shoulders as he pulled back her silken veil with care. She hissed in a whisper nonetheless. Did it hurt? His touch lingered. He gazed longingly at her seated form. Candlelight danced over the lines of her dress, the flesh of the back of her pale neck, partially obscured. He drew away, coming to the other side of the table, the familiarity of the benign, twinkling music guiding his way. He tried not to put any shrieking friction between the chair and the floor as he took a seat in front of her.

He raised his eyes. He knew he would meet the doe-like innocence of Rey’s wide orbs... but this wasn't what he saw. He was struck. He stared into two dark pits, like portals into hell. She lifted a snowy arm, her talons clipped along the wood of the table as she began to drum her fingers. Hux stared at her. This wasn't right... it was supposed to be Rey on the other side, not...

Vysera. VYSERA?!

The bloodied words are written in flesh: 

ALL  
HAIL  
REN.

Hux awakes. He gasps for water. His hand curling over a glass. His hand shakes as he lifts it to his lips, staining his chest with water. Did he pour it himself? He smells for poison. His paranoia. Only a dream, he reminds himself. His nightclothes cling to his body as he swiftly gulps the cool liquid for relief. He checks the time. He... overslept?! How did he oversleep?! Such a thing had been unheard of, he was supposed to stay awake... the whole night.

The video footage on his new data pad is replaying the Ren incident. This must have been the source of his nightmares, he tries to comfort himself. The images. He must have replayed them for hours. Why does he torture himself? What does he hope to discover from it? He doesn't know the answer. He finally turns it off. It is a relief not to hear the voice of that hag... to see the numbed face of Kylo Ren...

He staggers from the bed. His duvet is crumpled. He works his lip between his teeth for a moment before working to straighten it. It must be clear. Clean. Clear…

The bed is made once more, his night clothes folded, but they will need to be washed anyway. He sends the notification. The clothes will be left outside his door. He steps inside the fresher compartment. He hopes... he wants to believe... that a wash of cold water will fix his mind from straying back into the dream he had. He must hurry! He overslept! He will be late. There have been incidents. Notifications of uprisings. Distant planets, but news... it must be silenced! He has orders to give! 

With all that has distracted his mind, his dream had reminded him of Rey. His weapon. What has happened to her? He is hasty to gather his blueprints. More time for that project later. 

He dries himself harshly. His skin raw and pink in the cold. Why is it always so cold...?  
The towel catches on an old wound. He looks to his shoulder. Rey’s blaster shot. No, he cannot ignore her problem any longer. He will crush the small squabbles in the outposts and censor the news as much as he might be able before he makes Rey his biggest priority.   
He pulls on a new set of polished snowy clothes. A new set of shining, black boots. His dirty washing outside. The door locked-

-wait... he hadn't looked in the mirror. 

If he so much as has a hair out of place... He storms back in the room. Looking himself up and down in the mirror. No. He's fine. Why must he fear? 

He exits the door again. Locks it again. The dirty washing? Yes. In a neat pile. He tucks in the corners- no. He must leave it. He will be late! The blueprints! No, he has them already. Folded. Why does it feel like he has forgotten something? 

He marches, almost jogs through corridors to get to the boardroom. They don't seem to even care about his lack of punctuality. Yet, why do they look at him in this way...? He somehow fears the impossible: that they can see he has had a nightmare. Business begins. They tell him about an overtaken outpost that they have cut their end of communications off. There is no way to crush a rebellion among troops with more troops! They are supposed to be together! As one! No. Hux insists it must be eliminated swiftly, like the last. No trace. No one dares question him, but their eyes are wide. There is one, obvious and unanswered question: is this their solution for everything?! To eliminate their own forces?! They are a laughing stock! The witch has made them a laughing stock in only weeks! 

No. Hux reassures both himself and them: there will be a more permanent and suitable solution to this civil war. Hux’s weapon. He doesn't tell them that solution could involve a witch hunt... yet for him to become like them?! No... not LIKE them. Just USING them. He brings a swift end to the meeting. Now HIS word is law. Now HE is in control…

He can finally allow himself to smoke. Then the blueprints can be sent to-

“Uh... Sir!” 

Another protest?! And outside of the meeting? The only time that Hux might rest?! Hux glares down at the speaker. Lieutenant Mitaka of all people. An obedient man... Hux raises an eyebrow, turning to face him properly. A roll lit between his fingers. 

“What is it Lieutenant?” Hux’s voice is even more dreary than he had expected it to sound.   
“I'm just... wondering Sir, if you have lost... your gloves... Sir?” 

Hux looks down at his bare hands. He drops the cigarette. His face having paled. That's what he had forgotten! He had forgotten the most vital... his gloves...

“Thank you. Lieutenant.” Hux answers, his voice almost robotic. 

He trails back to his room. Hiding his hands in his sleeves the entire time before he finds his gloves again. He slips them on. Activating his data pad. He sends the doctors some digital replicas of his latest blueprints. Perhaps these will do. He wishes to check on Rey himself, but times make it harder for him. He also questions himself. His nightmare. He doesn't truly want to see her. His state is not fit enough. 

The absence of Norsil and no word from Rey from the past days worries him deeply. How has this escaped his notice?! A new order activated. Almost on a whim. Send in droids to take her back on her fitness regime. It's not like droids can reveal secrets. Machines are far more trustworthy and infallible than a simple man. A simple man like Hux... who has forgotten his gloves. Will Rey become his weapon? Truly? His machine? He has an ever-growing need for her... but her spirit is not so easily broken, he understands. At least her body, he hopes, might be fixed faster. He can only hope his designs are accurate... 

No time to question that! Of course they are! He must remain... optimistic... and when he is alone... he must remain distracted. His gloved fingers scramble for another cigarette.

~

"You sent him cigarettes?" 

Dr Minsk rubs at the bridge of her nose, eyes squinting shut. 

"I did." Dr Harrol leans back in his chair, sounding rather unperturbed. His light green eyes scan the data-pad in his hand as he flicks across the screen with his fingertip.

"Are you insane?" She asked, voice straining as she leans forward across the desk. He blinks at her in confusion for a moment and then shrugs.

"We're so close to an institutional collapse and you're worried about a bit of lung damage?" He sounds far too amused for her liking. With a sigh, she shakes her head. 

"And what if he decides you've committed treason?!" She slumps into the chair across from him, taking a moment to peer at his pad with curiosity. 

"I'm pretty sure we've got bigger problems." He slides the data pad across the smooth surface at her. She catches it before it slides off and onto the floor and scans the...

"How are we getting in to her?" Dr Minsk asks, brows lifted. They've both tried over the last week to gain access to their patient's room. The door remaining unresponsive to every code they have tried to gain entry. Norsil's code had been able to open it but... He's ash in the atmosphere by now. A damn shame. 

"I think he's dispatched a droid." Harrol muses, eyeing the schematics. Everything seems to check out... Minsk lends her eye, and finally they submit it to the manufacturing lab. An ample excuse to sit by the printer, watching it craft the device that their Emperor has created...

"Agata…"Harrol lifts his eyes to his fellow doctor. She acknowledges him with a small sound, eyes still locked on the growing spine in the tank before them.

"Hm?"

"Well, you know how we could be ordered to our deaths at any moment...?" He fiddles with something in his hands. She tears her eyes away from the device and lifts a brow at his question.

"Yes?" It's not a fate she'd like to contemplate. But there are so many unanswered questions. So many rumors… None of them flattering. To either the self-proclaimed Emperor or the former Supreme Leader... Or was he still the rightful leader and they currently were just in the employ of a usurper? It was hard to distinguish...

"I think we should get married..." He blurts. She stares at him.

"Now you've gone and lost your mind, too?" She sounds bewildered, uncertain if he jokes or...  
"Are you serious?" She questions, narrowing her eyes - not in the mood for joking at her expense. The operation they will have to perform will be riskier than before... Already their patient has potentially life threatening complications....

"Yes. Perhaps for the first time in my life." He answers her softly.

"You have rotten timing, Harrol…"She mutters. 

He frowns. She softens.

"Yes, I will marry you. Let's get our patient through the night first, hm?" She sounds very matter of fact. So much so that he nearly misses her acceptance. He grins widely at her. She grins back but only for a moment before she fixes him with a very serious look.

"Fo-cus." She gently chides before turning her attention back to the spine growing before them... Gods help them all...

~ 

Rey didn't hear the sound of the droid melting through her door. She didn't hear it burst through the barricade she had created, even after its efforts carried on for some minutes. She had at long last been deprived of consciousness.

Hunger, exhaustion... The disheartening effects of feeling trapped while also being alone and completely terrified with a body that seemed determined to betray her at every turn... She was no match. Broken and alone... She was utterly unprepared for the harsh whir of mechanics.  
A strangled scream, the bite of metal on her neck... And then blessed darkness once again.

~

When Harrol takes a line of Spice, Minsk doesn't even bat an eyelash. Only swipes the mirror from him and finishes the second. They stand, bleary eyed, staring into the room they've settled their patient into. Hauled out of her room and placed in their care...

They were asked to do the impossible. And they've done so. For a second time. Harrol's hand comes to rest on Minsk's lower back. Then lower still as the haze of the drugs lifts their spirits. They look at their patient and they can't seem to make themselves see anything human. She's died. Come back. Been put through hell and dances with death again... She's either blessed or cursed...

Definitely cursed, they decide, when they watch the droids enter the room - only hours after she has been patched together again. Red lights blinking where eyes should be. Do Not Disturb. 

"I guess Norsil's been replaced..." Harrol finally comments as he leans against the two way glass window.

"It looks like it's out of our hands..." Minsk sounds... Sad. She turns her back to the emptied room - she doesn't want to see that poor girl hauled out. Doesn't want to know what her life will be like. She was already fearful for her mental health before. Now.... She sighs, taking the spinal pieces they have removed and rinses them.

A pointless gesture... They'll just be melted down. Repurposed... It's just... They've put so much work into... She bursts into tears. Drawn by the sound, Harrol makes his way over to her, putting his arms around her and tugging her away from the sink. At least... They have each other....

~

It is training unlike anything she has endured before.

Awoken by a droid and pain radiating from her back... Nutrient sludge dispensed - that she must drink at a rate acceptable to the programming in the droid lest it assault her ears with that horribly pitched beeping! 

A struggle. To make her body work. She thinks she might have been moved to the scenario rooms. She never knows. Only that she is pushed far beyond anything she has ever known.   
She feels as though she has become pain itself. 

The droid is merciless. The programs are relentless. The blaster fire FEELS real. The injuries she receives certainly are. And the lack of a break... Of proper time to rest and recover... That is certainly real, too.

Days? Weeks? A month? More? It all passes in a surreal blur to her. Her back has ceased seizing. She's gained control. Of her body. Even if her mind feels disconnected. Somehow, she absorbs the training. Learns to move with tactical precision. Pain is the heavy handed teacher that gains its voice through that awful garbled beeping and whirr of the droids...

It's been so long since she has seen a real human being that she begins to think she has forgotten what they look like. She sees only shapes. Faceless blurs of simulations. Holograms. Wordless screams. Words... She doesn't need to speak. She doesn't have a voice.

She is as much a machine as the ones that surround her. She doesn't.... Feel. Whatever Rey was, it is but a faint glimmer buried under tactical manoeuvres and the lacquer of pain that taints her existence. Until one day, even that seems to have faded away into the distance, bizarre memory. 

When the 'targets' appear, she does not hesitate any longer. She slaughters battlefields.... Assassinates and tortures... All without question. Conditioned to obey, to do whatever she can to avoid electric shocks and shrill screeching wail of a noise, lest it split her head in two.  
She's adept. Fast. Nimble. She has learned to move with silence. Lest her steps trigger sensors. She's adapted. Cunning. Cold. Calculating. Her sensibilities heightened, her practicality honed. 

_Whatever it takes..._

She'll survive this. And she'll get free...

There's only one thing that stays in her mind. A warm touch in an endless sea as something bright in the sky lowers to the horizon. A pale smudge of a face, the features lost in the conditioning of the training programs. A hand in hers, a halo of dark hair and... A promise. 

_Love._

She'll find him. If he exists... If she does... If it's not a dream... If she's human at all.. Whatever happened to him... Happens... She'll find all that remains... If anything does. She drinks down the nutrient sludge. She doesn't even gag on it anymore. It's bland taste no longer makes her guts churn. She's forgotten that anything else exists. It's just fuel. It's the same, she imagines as the dark liquid injected into her veins. The fire that makes her forget how to sleep, how to feel, how to stop...

~

For the past month, it had been unheard of for him to live a quiet morning, but since he had stayed up for another night, he had tried to deduce the answers to questions that were yet to be posed to him. A spare second of time was dedicated to predictions of where next to strike tactically. The First Order's Empire, as it turns out, has planets and pieces that would rather owe allegiance to Ren. At least the differences are becoming clear, he supposes bitterly. At least they are beginning to understand what targets to obliterate. Even if their numbers fall. They are being made weaker. There is footage of riots... the words: 

‘Bastard King’

‘Faces not codes’

"All Hail Ren" 

Painted in blood. In black. In ash and fire on the grand walls of Vorkenna itself. He has been advised to send in his own troops as a temporary solution and he was, despite his better judgement, unable to refuse. The footage shows armour upon armour. Fire in the streets. Banners waved over the flames. The civil war has begun. Now they fight. Now they strategise. Now they finally do the jobs that they were given once again, but against each other. Hux is no exception. Will this... devastation be his legacy? He cannot afford to think it. His Order... this universe he has inhabited for so long... coming apart at the seams... he has to close his eyes to block away the hatred. Not for them, but for himself. 

The two sides wear the same uniform, though some... some in favour of their first Supreme Leader, have gone so far... as to reveal their faces. The First Order, with a human face. Names... not numbers... 

It's far too dangerous. It shares the same danger that FN-2187 first ignited. They are not clones... and while a symbol endures, a face motivates. Hux of all people knows that. He's spent decades building his own image. Now... he must build another. HER image.

He has watched her too. More so, recently. Her records are positive. She improves at an impressive rate... if only he could be convinced that she will be ready... 

He watches her run. Dive. Jump. Athletic. Precise. Yes... considering what he saw the last him he had seen her face. Her progress occupies his mind. The only positive in a sea of rapidly collapsing negative figures. 

Was Hux... 

He cannot think that he was not fit to be Supreme Leader. He is not so weak as to question it.   
Finally, he has the quiet morning. Early morning. It should not, perhaps, be so quiet as it is. There should be movement. He is used to frantic movements, frantic questions and commands from helmets... 

He wishes, finally and truly wishes... to see her face.

His feet take him to the elevator before he can question if he is really ready. He'll never be ready. Not if she is as wild as he remembers her to be. Yet... he must know. There are few things that might put his mind at ease. He comes to the correct floor. His gloves are on... good... very good...


	14. Chapter 14

Adapt. Overcome. 

Fix. Find.

She's getting better. Every... Cycle that she is away. She forgets the time of day. What it means to sleep. Everything is to be done quickly. Without hesitation. There is no time to contemplate. 

Dismantled - no sleep, no human contact, loud sounds, duress... Relying on stims to keep her active.... She's little more than a machine. Just a bundle of wires responding to signals. 

The program always changes. Just as she thinks she's conquered each scenario, as she's learned to evade the fire of the blaster, the sting of acid, or the bite of a stab wound - it all changes.

The blurred faces, the vague shapes come at her. Always seeking to kill. She's forgotten to question why they want her dead... Or why she should fight them - if not to save herself from pain. Brittle in the mind but strong in the body.... She's hardened with prime nutrients and her activities. 

She wears her dark garb boldly. Everything fits like a second skin - flexible enough for her to move and to move silently, yet fitted with thing plates of shock absorbing armor. Pieces slid into key places in her attire to use as shields... Not that they help against the electroshocks… She's unaware that she's been being observed. By the doctors who scan the read outs of the reports sent automatically from the droid that monitors her. The spine upgrade has made a huge impact. She's thrashing old records and replacing them with fiercely competitive ones... Unaware that she has drawn the attention of the man who gave her that spine in the first place.

Maybe it's been some hours, maybe an entire day... Sweat slicks her hair back and sticks her clothes to her body. She's left a pile of mangle droids... Where they go... She doesn't know. How they are taken away and repaired is a mystery to her. So she tries to damage every one as much as she can. So maybe...

Just maybe... She can see who or what comes to collect them...

He arrives on the correct floor. Coming to her isolated training grounds. The scanning technology identifies him and gives him access... to a pile of crumpled droids which has been recently removed from her arena in the scenario room. She has done this? Of course. He has seen the statistics. He has reviewed them time after time. She will not be how he remembers her. He isn't sure what he feels, though he would like to believe that he feels nothing. 

There is a line of cameras and a control panel before him. He can see her now. In the present moment. It's strangely intimate. Nothing but her, himself, and a number of circling or dysfunctional droids that he has had to send her, over and over again. He can see, even from his angle, that sweat covers her body. This would be, he imagines, where the doctors come to observe her. There is a window somewhere in the next room that overlooks her, but it is protected and hidden by a barrier. Hux follows to that window. Alone. He knows she will be powerful, but he is not... afraid. Strangely. Considering how she has behaved before... he touches his shoulder. Solemn remembrance. He takes a microphone in hand. One that will make his voice sound in her scenario room. How long is it since she's heard a human voice? He finds the controls to the droids. The different illusions and environments in the room and he turns off the power. 

How long has she been left with them running? How many situations of peril has she faced in here? He cannot help but be impressed... but for her, he must stay cold. He brings the microphone closer. Clearing his throat softly. Undoubtedly, she will be afraid. It’s been over a whole month... of this…

Before her, a chasm has opened. A maw in the earth that threatens to swallow her whole. Three mercenaries from the back and a rapidly collapsing bridge.... She makes a run for it. Has she ever run so fast in her life? She can feel the throb of her pulse in her veins, the fire in her lungs as her body tries to take in oxygen. Sweat drips from her forehead and falls to her lips. She isn't even sure if it's real... If she careened off to the side, if she'd fall...

Could she fall? It's tempting, she wants to pause, to throw herself from the ledge and see what catches her. If anything. Maybe nothing... Maybe she'll fall into the sky itself.... The hail of blaster fire spurs her onward, however - thought of any nature that is non-vital to the mission is a definitive way to find herself wearing agony. Across the way, barracks doors are sliding shut. She runs faster, performing an acrobatic tumble, a roll - to avoid landing shock troops. The heavy whir tells her that they are mechanical, not humanoid. The ticking sounds of their spinning rotary blades... Jagged things when they have stopped but smooth and disc like in motion. She doesn't want to lose flesh to them.

Rey drops down into a slide, narrowly missing the blades aimed for her chest, her throat, her head... Will she make it? 

She'll never know. The simulation terminates. The scenery vanishes leaving her in a nearly empty room, but for a few block shapes of obstacles and droids that now stand motionless. She stares up at them in bewilderment, laying half on her side, half on her belly with a blaster clutched in her hands, ready to fire into their metal bodies. The lights have come up, leaving her disoriented. Blinking, too used to low light and back lights... The holograms... 

She moves slowly, into a crouch, moving along the side of the room performing a brief sweep. Her blaster follows the motion of her eyes - it is merely an extension of herself. Her will to terminate. She hears a soft sound that plays loudly over the speakers. Her head tips upwards, one speaker shot before she realizes it's just that. A simple loudspeaker. She swallows hard, moving behind cover and tries to collect her breath. What is happening?

Fear tries to touch her. To turn her blood to ice. But it is already so heated... Has not been allowed to cool. Even if it's a hundred squadron leaders... A hundred executioners.... She's ready this time.

"Rey." He speaks quietly. "This is Emperor Hux." He waits for his reaction. His eyes on the window that looks over her. She is unaware that he can still see her. So much of surveillance is concealed... She chews her lip, risking a glance out around the corner. Nothing. She's alone... But for a voice. HIS voice.... She doesn't know whether she wants to rage or to weep..... Words! A HUMAN voice! 

"Speak clearly- do you remember me?" 

She stares numbly, ears straining to listen for the doors... For footsteps...

He turns on the sounds within the room.

"I've come here to see you." He says. 

It is a cool and composed announcement, despite him being unsure if... he would even live through an encounter with her, considering what he has seen of the droid.

She's prompted to speak. How could she forget? She stares down at her hands, the weapon held easily in them... These speak for her, these days... She has no use for her mouth. Her tongue. In spite of what those squadron leaders had seemed intent on showing her...   
I've come here to see you.

Why? Has she not been abandoned? She wants to say that he'll find no Rey here... She snorts, holstering the weapon. What can she possibly say? 

"What do you want?" She croaks, a hoarse whisper. She steps out from her cover, eyes scanning - searching for his form.

Portable controls. He hopes he won't have to use them. She has holstered the weapon but she is unpredictable... his own blaster lies close at his body. He carries it everywhere. He will never be unarmed in a civil war...

He unhooks the microphone too. He moves along. He will find the door to the room shortly.

"I want... to speak with you." He says calmly. "I want you... on my side." Dangerous words. The truth, of course, is always dangerous. She can outright refuse him... but it will just mean he'll have to wait longer. Try harder. There has to be a way... 

She shakes her head. It's got to be some kind of... Of joke. A new... Twist to the programming. She's wary. She closes her eyes for a moment. All she can see is that bloody, gaping hole in the side of Norsil's helmet. No... Nothing... Nothing he D-did or said... None of it suggested he wanted anything to do with her... Her hand lifts to the side of her neck, her fingers work over the scar.

The doors open and she turns.They close behind him. He is now in the cage with his trained tigress. He tries not to tense so much. He removes his microphone. Grips his controls, tight. He eyes her up and down. Now there are no screens to divide them. He has forbidden himself... from missing her... but... but he does. He has missed her humanity. Now he knows he has stripped it away. Completely? He isn't sure. He is here to find out.

"Hello, Rey." He greets, without the aid of a microphone.

A face. Features she can see! She wants to run to him. To put her hands on his cheeks, to touch his arm to make sure her hand will not pass through it... How can she be sure? How can she tell that this isn't just a new...? She approaches, cautiously. She stops short, her eyes dropped to his hands. Leather gripping a bar of controls.... She steps her feet apart, saluting. Maybe it is... Maybe it's not. She stares through him, seeing the wall behind him. She drops her hand, they settle behind her back as she moves to a more eased posture. The tension remains…

"Emperor." she whispers... She twists her fingers together. She wants to confirm... This is real... But those words... The blood on his knuckles.

_Don't EVER touch me again!_

Promising. Very promising. He sometimes forgets that she first had the training as a stormtrooper. For how long? he wonders. The way she first looked at him. He recognizes the look from his own face in the mirror. The loneliness is agonizing. Far more so for her. He thought she would touch him. She didn't. He remembers as much as she does what he screamed to her that fateful day. Her training has done well for her. It is so... odd to think that she knows... nothing. Nothing of what has happened and why...

Emperor... he wonders for how long. He exhales a soft breath. She is so... unlike anyone else on this cursed vessel. It's time that... she knew something. If he can plant in her mind a new reason... a new purpose...

"You've been here for quite a while." Hux states as fact. Forever, she thinks. She was born here. Maybe she'll die here… He looks to the floor now. Shame...? No. Not... not shame. Not guilt… She glances at him. "Outside..." Hux says softly, "there is a war raging."

She can't help herself. A small scoffing sound. This has to be a simulation... There is no army, no foe that would be stupid enough or big enough to pose a threat.

"Yeah..." she doesn't sound convinced. He is shocked. Almost offended at her scoff. At her tone She draws her weapon again, stepping away from him. Now, she bets she'll hear mission perimeters. Objectives… She's dropped lower, moving like a shadow, turning and vanishing behind an obstacle only to moments later appear atop of one further in the belly of the room…

She crouches low, armed with a different weapon. Long range. A powerful scope. The droids will reactivate any moment now... The lights will lower... More will filter in… She feels a sinking feeling in her gut. Just another illusion. She's still alone...

Yet he watches her take her place in the room. Take up her weapon. This is the problem, he fears: she has been in here too long now. If only he might trust her... If only he might believe that she would not be on the ever-growing numbers that have turned against him for Ren. Of course she would. She would do anything for her Ren…

"I'd like to take it as a joke too." Hux snaps. "But Rey it's not a joke. It's not a game. It's not training drill. It's not a simulation. It's not a nightmare. It's not my nightmare." His eyes narrow into sharp points. She hears only the name again... She feels... Irritated, too... That is not her designation! The sims have been calling her another name for what feels an eternity... Until it feels like that's the only name she's ever had…

"What do you think this has all been for, hmm? For me to kill you?" He makes a scoffing sound himself, shaking his head. She sees that glowing halo right before her eyes... The burn on her neck. It doesn't seem so incredibly far-fetched. Nevertheless, he sounds irritated. Curious. The programs don't bother with inflection. Monotonous drones… His image tries to assure her he is real. There is no game here. She sits up, legs dangling over the edge. The butt of her rifle resting on the top of her thigh as she considers him. The long barrel reaches for the ceiling.

"No." He confirms. "I've never been able to kill you. Because I need you. I need you to fight for me." He confesses. "I need you for the war. The war outside." He... has perhaps said too much. Yet how long can he keep her trapped in a dream when he needs her?

"Who is foolish enough to wage war against the Order?" She questions aloud. She doesn't believe.... Anyone would fight anything so vast and insidious. Less than she believes anyone needs her.

"You have an army... Thousands of armies." She calls from her perch. This is getting bizarre... She slides down, rifle resting on her shoulder as she approaches him.

He is glad that she slides down. That she approaches. It will make it easier to appeal to her. He didn't want to pull this card too early but the disbelief is evident in her voice. Damn it, he needs a solution and he needs one fast! It's not like Kylo has to be a part of this... though she will ask further. He casts his mind to when they occupied a craft together. That bellowing rage. The way she had screamed that witches' name, unlike anything he had ever heard out of her. Then... before... at Vorkenna. Her arms marked. Kylo taken into the grip of the other woman. Hux's dream. It wasn't Rey on the other side of a table. He takes in another deep breath. He turns away from her. So that she might not read his expression. She extends the barrel of the rifle. A small gesture.  
It connects with something solid. Barely a tap. She withdrew the weapon hastily. Real.... After all...

"What does... the name... Vysera Ren, mean to you?" He questions her. Numbly.

Vysera Ren.... Her grip on the weapon tightens. She wants to scream. The pain... Ben's pain... Leia's absence... Her chest tightens.

"Does she live?" she remembers the way the woman had clung to Ben... Maybe... She cannot afford to hope… Hux risks a glance over his shoulder at her. Her voice... yes! It's what he wanted...

"If she does..." her hands tremble.... Her voice wavers though it sharpens… Good. That rage must be treated with care, but he couldn't have hoped for better. 

"I'm going to kill her."

Hux meets her eyes. He turns fully to face her, his expression stony. As real as he can make it.  
"Not only does she live." Hux begins, "but she is the very one I rage war on..." Best not to mention the other Ren at all. Though, undoubtedly, Rey will ask more. The more she knows…Her pulse races. She lets the rifle drop from her hands, her fingers knotting in her sweat dampened hair...  
Has it been too long?

"She has thrown a stone into the water." Hux says carefully. "And brought the First Order into a civil war. She has brought bloodshed... and..." he must be so very careful now. He knows, well enough... there is only one thing she will truly care for. Only one reason... the very reason that could be his key to motivating her to fight... "and she has taken him." Hux whispers. He searches Rey's face. "Hasn't she?"

Civil war? It seems... So absurd... And yet this beast has been thirsting for blood for so long... Since the Resistance ceased to be a threat… She stares at him. Her heart twists....

"Shouldn't you know that Intel?" she asks... Disheartened... Shouldn't he know?! Wouldn't he have heard?!

She's so... easy. This is what separates her from all others Hux knows. He tells her such pieces of information, and suddenly she is a fish on his hook. Her love for Ben... for Kylo, is such a good tool... if he uses it well. Carefully enough. Just enough care…

"I do." He answers her simply. He starts to pace before her. "But it seems despite my entire empire searching for her, she is very good at hiding... and when she is found... well." He stops his steps, risking another dangerous glance at her. "That's why I need you." He finally tells her. His hands make fists at his sides. "She has used men with great minds as her dogs. Because they do not have the force..." 

He's not sure how much more he should say. How much more she will ask.She swallows hard, exhaling through her lips... No...

"They will be unable to resist her will." Hux clarifies. "I, will be unable to resist her will." He emphasises. "Ben... has fallen to it." He coaxes. Perhaps he is being carried away. His plan so close to falling into the right direction. She shakes her head. No…

"The troops have fallen to it..." he takes a daring step closer to her. He steps closer and she lifts her hands. A slight shake to her head. A warning. He doesn't blink as he stares. Straight into her eyes. "But you will not fall." He makes himself sound more certain than he is. There is darkness in his voice. "A woman scorned will never fall..." he continues intensely. Quietly. Just them in this room... "because if you do... if you give up now..." he finally blinks. 

His gaze lowers slyly. He doesn't need to finish. He has dangled Kylo Ren before her... like a bone before a dog.

"I don't think I can help you..." she whispers.

He has done too much at once. Said too much. He gives her space. Taking a step back. Another. He comes to her side rather than before her. He moves around her.. Away from before her... At her side. Behind her. Her breath becomes less steady…

"Perhaps not." He agrees lowly. "And yet..." he takes a few more steps. Now coming behind her. "Did you think a girl from Jakku could take up a lightsaber and single handedly disarm Kylo Ren himself?" His lips twitch but his tone is too serious to smirk. She shakes her head. She doesn't want to be that girl! She'd take it all back...! 

"If you COULD help me... would you? And if not for me..." he inches closer again. Her expression is frozen. Her hands... She wrings them... "Would you at least attempt it? For Ben...?" She wants to.... Gods... She'd give anything... But the Force... She is not one with it anymore... He thinks it makes her infallible against Vysera... She doesn't have it! He is so cruel! To throw Ben's name at her...

"I believe I can make it a reality." His voice is certain again, but there is an urgency to it. His words have raised in volume. "I believe that I can help you kill her... if only you help me. I need..." he sighs. "Help." He finally finishes. "Rey..." he swallows. Too much... even for him there's too much. "Now half of my army belongs also to her and I'm a fool if I don't..."

Face the facts... that he is vulnerable…

She rubs at the mark on her neck, her fingernails open the flesh…

"Stop it! She hisses."stop calling me that... Stop... Just stop!" She shakes her head... She needs a moment... She tries to put distance between them.... To think… He pauses. He thinks she will attack him. He thinks she might refuse him. He thinks she might...

"I..." she longs to ask... If... If he's alive. Has he been seen? She thinks of that awful pain and the cold absence of… But she can't say that. That's the entire sum of her use to him. The Force. It's keeping her alive. It's her worth.... He waits for her question, but it doesn't come, or another comes in its place.

"Just... Tell me what I have to do." she'll fake it... Until... If... She can find a way to reconnect to it. What went wrong...

He resists a smirk, though it would be too easy for one to appear on his face. It is just... he couldn't have planned it better. She just needs the courage. Will she really... work for him? Protect him? Will she really take his side? He is too eager. He has to win her over, first. There's only one way he can think of. He doesn't like it... but he will do so. He will do whatever it takes. He removes a glove. Outstretches his open hand to her. She blinks at him. Watches with trepidation as he works to remove a glove. Pale ivory fingers... Dexterous. Capable. The last time she'd seen them...

"Here." He tells her quietly. "You can touch it. You can touch me here, if you'd like." He holds his breath, but remains still after lowering the controls to the floor with his other hand. Her teeth meet. Tears glossing her eyes but stubbornly cling to her lashes. She stares at his hand...  
His rage... EVER! The fever of rage in his eyes... Never touch. Not again. Not ever.... It. He refers to his hand as... It. She feels cold. Brittle.

"I can promise you more than a simulation room and a few droids... but not before I know we're true allies."

They can never be... She's not so stupid as to believe if she somehow does find and destroy Vys and rescue her love that Hux will simply step aside. She can't take her eyes from his offered hand. How desperately she... Wants to know that she's real. That she can be felt... To know more than the harsh metal of droids… But this isn't Ach'To. He isn't Ben... He... She swallows back a rising temper.

"Put your glove back on. We have work to do." She says, her words are stronger than she feels. She shoves her own hands into her pockets... As if to keep them from betraying her.


	15. Chapter 15

She has surprised him yet again. Refusing his hand. He feels a pang of weakness. Foolishness. Too much. He has got carried away with himself. Now, she is the one to remind him of who they are. He wants to be angry at her. He's not. He's... grateful. As he slips on his glove ,she glances down at her boots. She rocks back onto her heels. She'll find another way... To know she exists.  
. His brows setting. He gives a small nod. Work to do indeed... how long since she has slept? Longer than him? She ought to have more... 

"So." He says. "Now you know..." 

Not everything. Not the anti-force sentiment he's been spreading. She must still be kept separate... 

"You know what you're fighting for." He muses. "Perhaps you won't have to be forced into motivation by a few machines? What do you say?" He swallows down doubt. "Would you like your space in the gym back?” 

She pales. No. She can't go back there.... Norsil... The executioners.... 

“Or does it help you..." He ponders, "to stay down here... to know what you must do..."

Her brow furrows.

"I need the armoury. A destination. If I am to be deployed, I need mission perimeters. Whatever assets I can use..." The simulations have told her as much. She has learned the protocols...

"Hm." Hux works his jaw thoughtfully. She has been taught well. He didn't expect her to know... 

It is tempting. To send her out. To send his message swiftly. To have an upper hand in the riots aside from the equipment that he has an almost limitless access to... if those points of access aren't blocked. He fears there are too many variables. The opposing troops think they are fighting for Kylo Ren as well as Vysera. Could Rey kill them, too? Add in the anti-force sentiments he has used in his speeches...

"I admire and am grateful for how eager you are..." he begins, "though you must know there are... certain complications you may encounter that shouldn't deter you from your course." He licks his lips. Pressing them together for a moment. "Vysera Ren is using Kylo Ren's image to help promote herself..." Hux's face forms a scowl. "But let me assure you... it is not for Kylo Ren that my troops attack each other. It is for her. Do you really believe, after all, that Ben Solo would require such needless bloodshed to acquire a throne that he could be capable of winning back alone? If he were freed?" 

He now treads in even deeper waters. Too rash... yet the faster he might... he will soon show her the footage perhaps. Once he has convinced her. If it's trust he wants... he must give her what he can first. So that she might understand. 

"It's a pointless war." Hux adds, "but a war nonetheless, in which Vysera... USES us."

Ben would never.... She doesn't need convincing. Vysera is poison. She knew it from the second she saw poor JF... Withered like… Oh force help her! What if Vysera has similarly drained Ben?! She's already wasted too much time with a broken body... Rey must make amends, must counteract this frittering of time!

"What happens after? I kill for you. B...he's free... What then?" she will not ever trust a statement of truce from Hux. Her surviving and being successful... She has her doubts, as well. But she can't afford to mention them. Not with her opportunity to escape looming before her. 

Assuming Ben lives, of course. Hux thinks it, but doesn't say it. What happens then... indeed a question that he ought to consider in the long term. He knows she won't believe what he tells her... but she needs the motivation.

"I want my Empire." Hux tells her coolly. "You want Ben?" His lip curls at the thought but nevertheless… Rey notes he looks disgusted. Or angered....

"Take him then." Hux tells her sharply. Take him? She tries not to look hopeful. Her brows instead push together as she keeps her face as close to neutral as she can manage. 

"When this is over. So long as he doesn't get any idiotic aspirations..." the tips of Hux's fingers dig into his palms. "He never even WANTED the damn Order, I could see it on his miserable face every day of every miserable week..." he's gone on a tangent. 

Begun pacing again. He tries to cool off. 

A sign, she's grown to understand, means that his mind is getting away from him. It sounds too good to be true... An opportunity for Ben to just walk away from this. Selfishly, she wants this. To leave the galaxy in the hands of this tyrant... Is she so willing to condemn all others for the sake of her and Ben's own happiness?  
Horrifically, she thinks she could be. The galaxy never owed her. Why should the same in reverse not be true? 

"I'm not going to stop you." He offers Rey. "Though you may want to head somewhere quiet..."   
a way to lead up to his second point of complication. 

She watches him carefully.

"You see... after Vysera's rise, there have been some... anti-force sentiments." He explains. "Merely a product of some like myself who feel powerless against the influence of such people, and in our history too. The Emperor before myself. Snoke. Vader. All of them have brought havoc into our lives. When you find Ben- feel free to keep him. To find a safe and quiet haven. I'll make no orders to disturb you... but..." 

It is a history lesson that she has been unaware of… Then, he tells her she is free to keep Ben! Keep him. As if he's some sort of possession... Is that how he sees her too? Stripped of humanity, Force users are just implements to be used? 

"We're not..." Her voice is soft. "We're not all like that!" She protests.

He flexes his hands... cracking his knuckles. "...should WE be disturbed by YOU..." he continues, smoothing his hair from his eyes. "I might have to reconsider." He turns to face her once more. "Do we have an accord?"

"You'll never see us again, I swear it." She answers. "We're not..." 

She takes a deep breath. Why it's so important to he? That he knows, that he understands...

"The Force doesn't make us enemies. Or.... Bad." She states. Whether she means all people who are sensitive to it and those who are not or her and Hux specifically? She's uncertain. She insists that the Force doesn't make... her and Ben his enemies? Doesn't make everyone with it an enemy? Both? Does it matter? He sneers at her.

"I'll show you." She adds stubbornly.

Stubborn... swearing that she'll show him... show him what? He scoffs.

"Oh, show me what?" He spits sarcastically. 

He is unable to hide his bitterness. His anger. 

"Show me... how much power you hold over me? Are you going to show me... how you can slap me from wall to wall with a wave of your hand?" 

His eyes become the sharp points of daggers as he tries to stand taller.

"Are you going to show me... what it's like to curl your fingers in mid air and watch me choke on your..." his face creases in further revulsion, "godly power?" He wants to tower over her. Be a tower for her to stare at. A perfect picture of power... infantile, perhaps. Yet he must. He must…

She looks up at his face. Her expression is... Sad. He speaks of uses of the Force that... That he must have experienced. At the hands of Ben? Or Snoke? She is more ready to believe it of Snoke... Having been in his Force-fueled grasp before. 

"I'm sorry... That has happened to you." She murmurs quietly, though his voice grows louder, he makes himself tall and imposing.

She apologises. He hates... HATES apologies! How pointless! What the hell does she do apologise for?! She's not sorry it happened. Why should she be? Like the rest of them... she ought to be pleased that he was hurt. He has hurt her, why should she not be as the rest are and hurt him, too?! It is this very question that plagues him. An idea that he wants to reject, yet she makes him unable to.

"No." he shakes his head. "No, I would like to show YOU." He says, "that someone like ME can take the power of an Empire... and be better... than any Force user... EVER was!" He didn't realise his voice had raised. He pauses for a moment. Clearing his throat. Softening. 

"I digress." He sighs. "It is not a matter... to concern you..."

She stares down at her boots. 

"We didn't choose it." She says softly. "None of this."

He doesn't meet her eyes. Doesn't look at her anymore. 

"No." Hux agrees. "But you will be like... them." He snarls, though his voice is quiet. "You will grow to enjoy the taste... of using bodies as your puppets... of being the one in charge of our minds. Of our limbs..." 

He is being distracted... he sighs. Turning further away.

"Don't you think if that were the case.... You wouldn't have left Vorkenna?" She can't help herself. His anger of his previous statements.... It brings heat to her veins. Interactions with him thaws the ice that has frosted over her during the last nightmare of the last few months... 

He acts like he is so much better! 

He stiffens. Impertinence... using such an example. His hands remain in their fists. He opens his mouth to snap back at her. She lied to him... a fucking punchline. His affections for naught. Resistance, scavenger, force-wielding scum! Who... for perhaps the entire time he had known her, was occupied in a love affair with Kylo Ren! Making the entirety of this... this farce! He says none of this, though he is tight. Stiff. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were reciting out of your own instruction manual." She growls.

She blinks. Almost as if sense itself has returned to her. She scolds herself... She can't make an enemy out of him... She needs his trust so she can escape... To claw her way out of this hell and find Ben.

He makes a sound too cold and sour to be a laugh. He wants to.. but he knows better than to engage with her. A rough sound. Less than a laugh, less than a growl. 

It grates at her... How... How bitter he is! How hateful of something that is so natural. So omnipresent! 

She doesn't recall him complaining... When the Force saved his bloody life! Her fingers have curled into fists, her cheeks flushed. Saving him was something she hadn't needed to do! She could have let him fall into the sea with the rest of the crumbling cliff side!

"Don't discuss with me what you can't comprehend." He glowers at the empty space in front of him, his back still facing her.

So dismissive! She wants to pull him around to face her but already her control is feeling flux, at best.

"You aren't ready to be deployed." He decides. 

No! She must! They're wasting time!

"Not yet." He picks up the controls again. "Not until you learn more about what game you're exactly about to enter." He sighs. Rubbing his eyes. He is... so unspeakably tired…

"I understand well enough. I've saved your life before. Taken lives by your command..." She blinks and she can see the splatter on the wall behind those squadron leaders... She draws a deep breath.

"I'm not here to argue. Not anymore." He states numbly. He readies to leave.

"Then don't argue. Send me forth! The sooner I go, the... The sooner this all ends. I'm certain you don't want me here any longer than is necessary and you'd like for Vysera to be rampant even less so!" She's desperate now.... If Ben is out there!

"You have taken ONE life by my command, without my help." Hux corrects, "and shortly afterwards orchestrated a reckless escape plan at the first sign of an open door." He looks at her over his shoulder. A knowing look that he is sure she will not appreciate.

One more than she would have liked... Still. She is not untainted. She has stained her hands with the blood of the slain. He then reminds her of her escape attempt... She scowls at him. And at herself... She'd been... deceived. Through the Force... She had genuinely believed she would find Ben and Vysera on Vorkenna and it...

"Only today have I told you the truth." He adds. "And only minutes ago we have discussed what lies in the balance." 

It led to all of this... She narrows her eyes at him. What lies in the balance… A heart. And an empire...

The smallest smirk twitches his lips. "You need clarity." He tells her as he turns to face her fully again. 

She finds herself crossing her arms over her chest. It's frustrating... To hear him call her out. To lay out these... things as fact. She wants to blame her pendulum motion on the fact that he has not been direct. That he attempts to play her as an instrument. He who holds the cards and she who holds none.

She sighs, his points are valid but it does not make them easier to hear. She thinks she can survive a battlefield, now, at least...

"You go from telling me do not think you can help me, to saying that you can kill Vysera. What do you think should happen? For me to drop you in a field full of soldiers who don't have a damn clue what side you're truly on and watch you wreak havoc? Do you want to try and find Vysera at the very first chance you have? Do you know what she's…!" 

He pauses. His words have increased in volume. Grown more and more rapid. He takes in a breath. Drawing out his datapad. He locks the security footage of the Ordinance and shuts down the appropriate tabs, leaving her with the Ren incident. Scenes of riots on other windows. He sighs again. A heavy sound. He... he is playing his cards too early... he shakes his head. Presenting her with the device.

She takes it, hesitantly…

That face.... Vysera Ren!

"Here." He tells her. "Watch these... carefully... and have a good, long think before you act."

She shoots him a dirty look before she drops her gaze back to that face. The speech... And beside her... Ben! She turns away from Hux, taking a few steps away... Her heart lodged in her throat. The way he only looks... Watches... Passive. Prisoner. Oh, Force....

The display... The... Grotesque... She feels queasy. This...It's beyond anything she has ever.... Even her imagination had never drug her this so far out of her comfort zone. She doesn't realize her hands have begun to shake. 

ALL   
HAIL  
REN

That's not... She's gone pale, a crimson blush of fury on her cheeks, on her neck, the tops of her ears.... She glances to the side icons along the edge of the screen - chaos in full eruption. Fighting on the streets, in the stars...

Hux is right... He does need help. The First Order is going to rip itself to pieces. Something she has no objections to. But she will not allow Ben to be taken as collateral. She will not let him endure being a prisoner! She doesn't realize she's been gripping the pad so hard. There's a faint cracking sound - an arc of black lightning across his screen. A whiplash across that pale, eyeless face....

She whirls back around. She stalks towards him, her eyes dark.... Focused. She shoves the datapad against his chest, reaching to try and take the controls from his other hand. She will run her own scenarios, if she has any say in the matter. She will not rest. 

That, he thinks to himself, is how a soldier is made. Endless training is one thing. Breaking a body and a spirit to build one up again is another, but if the woman's heart... has no desire to play? Then he might as well accept her loss and put her down. Now he sees it in her eyes: all the pieces are in place and his show of honesty has paid him well, at least in the short term. Ben was his final card to play. 

"A week." Ambitious. But... She'll make herself do it. Somehow. She won't sleep. She'll train. Relentlessly. Between the nutrient sludge and the stimulant injections... She'll do it. A week seems too long but if Vysera can hold even Ben.... and entire platoons at a time.... What hope does she have? A dangerous question she cannot afford to answer. She cannot allow herself any doubt. 

Now she will soon be ready. The datapad is shoved against his chest. There is a crack. Another flaw. Flaw. Illegitimate... mistake... Hux shakes his head. It's only a good sign. A sign she is angry enough. 

He... will get the screen replaced... everything... 

He lets her take the controls. She has the motivation. He knows it now. She will be allowed more freedoms; that is his final price for a soldier. 

"A week and I'll get you get your empire." And she'll have her love back in her arms... Free of all of this.

He stifles another scoff. A week. A week? He raises an eyebrow. 

His disbelief softens. He smiles at her. More broadly.

"One can only hope." He replies.

He puffs out a breath, straightens his clothes, takes a disdainful look at his data pad and then turns on his heel to march the other way.


	16. Chapter 16

Hux comes back the way he came, his curt footsteps echoing over the floors, until he reaches the elevator. He is pulled up a couple of floors, as more stormtroopers, and squadron leaders enter along the way.

The doors slide closed once more. Hux sighs. The space of the elevator is restricted. Armoured pieces on all sides. Hux rubs the sleep from his dreary and sore eyes. The elevator moves upwards for what feels like minutes on end. It's so hot. Hux starts to sweat. He lets out another, long sigh that rings surprisingly loudly in the silence. The many stormtroopers around him are so still. Simple toys or droids, or... Hux shakes his head. His paranoia. He must just... put it away. The troopers are obviously just waiting... for the doors to open again. Then one of them pulls the emergency break, bringing the motion of the lift to a jarring halt. Hux blinks. What...? why did they stop? The...

“All hail Ren.” 

He lifts his eyes to the monotone voice of one of the helmets. The one that spoke. Hux’s lips part but... he doesn't... understand...

“All hail Ren.” The others repeat.

The message finally settles in his mind. His eyes widen. He hears the fizz of a laser axe igniting. There's not a second to think before it crashes down upon him. His heart in his mouth, his scream is lost to sheer panic and instinct, he dives away with surprising agility considering the confines of the elevator, but he is on the floor, his cape sliced apart, the expressionless troopers are upon him. 

Two attempt to take his arms. He is suddenly consumed by his own fear, he struggles like something wild.

“No-!” He hears his own protest as if it is disembodied. He kicks and flails against the strength of his own soldiers. “NO!!!” 

He tries to scream or speak again, but the laser axe is swinging towards him once more. In a blur of miraculous movement and sheer strength of will, Hux twists one trooper holding him into the swipe of the weapon. They are almost cut in half. Hux can feel hot, thick blood cascading over his arm. His hand. Over the floor. The trooper’s? His own?! There's... there's so much! It's thick! It's... staining everything... 

His free, slick and bloodied hand launches to release the brake... they must have been close to a new floor. His fingers curl over the handle, but his other arm, still held in the grasp of the second trooper, is harshly tugged, the slick blood means Hux loses his grip. He is forced to the solid metal ground, an icy, steel floor, a slam of his body, his back... a hand pressed to his mouth, muffling his screams. The armoured plating of an arm is rammed against his more tender and fragile flesh, cutting into his neck... they all know that his loudest screams can be heard, even from many meters away, through the walls. 

“We’ll make it count.” A trooper’s grainy voice states from somewhere above him. 

“For our COMRADES!” 

“FOR REN!” Another exclaims in a cheer, or a battlecry, Hux will never be sure which.

Armitage writhes, he feels the burning punch of an electrified riot baton strike upon his abdomen. His voice stifled, he makes a strangled groan, his body attempts to curl uncontrollably in pain, but he is pinned in place. He is hit again, even harder than before. Branches of electricity make him twitch and spasm on the floor. Nevertheless, Hux’s hot, wet, fingers reach around the handle of his own blaster at long last. 

He fires. He fires everywhere, almost blind. So reckless for one who ought to show his skills as a tactician. It isn't logic that drives him. Not here. Not in this moment. His stomach aches unbearably in protest. He shoots the one who has pinned him three times in succession until he feels no strength in that body on top of him. Only dead weight. He shoots somewhere behind him. The emergency brake! If he just keeps... The cost of those shots is high. He has spent too long... a scramble of movement to his right. Still alive! Three of them! Hux makes a cry, the blaster is shot straight from his hand. It stings... his fingers... he grits his teeth. If it was shot from his hand that means... He sees the circular point of a blaster aimed directly at his face.

The weight of the body on top of him anchors him on the floor and it is his only shield. He lifts the helmet-clad head and sees the shot blasted through the skull that could have been his own. Blood has soaked the bottom of his trousers. Now he winces as he feels it splatter upon his face. He tastes it.

There is a jolt. The body on top of him slips across the floor, dragging him with it. Then the entire floor is trembling. Hux sees the remaining stormtroopers. They move like broken puppets. Injured? One is on their feet. They scramble closer. Their hasty dive in Hux’s direction is enough to make the entire structure of the elevator shudder and tilt. Then, a chilling crack of metal, the cable is snapped, released, and they are cascading... an earthquake. They will crash! Hux’s bones will break with the impact of the sudden stop. Unless... 

He rolls on top of the stormtrooper’s body, he can't feel the ground, the wind is knocked from his lungs as for some seconds of suspended terror. Falling... he is turning in the air despite his efforts to cling to the armour below him. There are limbs that rise and flail above his head and then... a deafening slam. 

The hit of bodies on the floor.

Dazed. The bright lights of the ceiling blind his eyes. He feels... cold. Something made a snap when he couldn't control the proper trajectory. His left arm... his shoulder lifts as an attempt to move it. He watches it roll at its unnatural angle. He twists. The doors... the heavy metal doors are being pried open.

Faceless troopers. They fire on the inside of the lift. Blaster shots shatter another soldier’s body lying on the elevator floor. Hux can't even scream for mercy. They are all... are they ALL against him?! 

“The Emperor!” A protest from somewhere in the crowd behind another modulator. “STOP! That's the EMPEROR!”

“The Emperor!”

“The Emperor’s in THERE!”

“Emperor, Sir! Are you alright?!” 

Emperor!

Emperor!

EMPEROR! 

Hux screams. A wordless, agonising sound that tears his vocal cords. He wriggles from the floor. One of his boots catches on the armour of the stormtrooper bodies. He flings the boots from his feet. Barefoot. In the Ordinance corridors. He sprints. Troopers from outside try to catch his arms. One hand snags on his broken limb. To help him? To KILL him?!

“LET GO of ME!!!” Hux bellows at them, practically frothing at the mouth. 

He stumbles past. Soldiers are around him at every turn, every corner! They ask questions, make exclamations, but the words blur into a hellish chorus of a language he can't understand. There are no defining features. No traits, no faces or identification. Just rows of helmets. He slips. Blood drips from his clothes. His strands of fiery hair fall over his eyes. He catches his stomach, his insides churn. The baton? Or is it just sickness? Weakness? He thinks he will be sick. He is only alone when he reaches the corridor of his quarters, where the majority of troops may not enter.

If that is the case, why can he sense a presence of armour? He lifts his eyes, his breaths, even after all of this, are shallow and wheezing. A silver suit. No. No! He checked! Her armour was empty! It was empty!

‘She’ll be coming for you, Armitage.’

“No...”

Armitage shakes his head. He points directly to the suit of silver. It's charred. It's blackened. It's hers. 

“NO!” Armitage spits back in response to her cold voice. Phasma’s voice... “You... are NOT real...” 

A cobalt eye blinks through a chink in the visor. He stares. Words have failed him.

‘Death comes for us all.’

Hux’s breath hitches. His own shadow grows longer and broader. He can beg. He can plead... but he will come. Brendol. Vysera... they will come and they will claim him. He cannot stop the inevitable. What he told Rey that night... he never even had a choice. 

A child. Locked in a dark cupboard. He has locked himself in his room. His bloodied clothes are abandoned. A mess on his otherwise pristine floor. He sits. His back to the cold wall. He sits and shivers.

His arm hangs uselessly at his side. His hand still feels like it's going to fall off... his stomach feels like he'll never breathe without pain, again.

Drink helps... it helps everything... it doesn't matter! It's all dulled.

Another bottle breaks apart on his floor. He's already cut open his barefoot... but he's... he's covered in blood so there's no...

He races to his sink. He needs to...

He vomits... and coughs, trying to clear it from his system. He's so afraid... oh gods...

He needs a drug... he considers calling the doctors. Something... anything...

He hastily smokes too many... the butts littering the floor with the broken bottles. He beats his own head against his door. LEAVE! LEAVE! Leave! 

Another bottle breaks apart on his floor. He needs a drug... ANY drug! The bottles aren't enough! He can still hear them!

THEY'RE MOCKING THE BASTARD BOY!

He overturns his draws, in rage...

He collapses on the bed. He... needs her.

No... NO! Not like this. 

He tries to clear it up... but the world around him twists, violently. He slips to the floor.

He isn't sure how long he's...

He opens his eyes. Was he asleep?! He CANT sleep! He wants to be awake! He wants to look them in the eyes if they come for him! They are! They will come to him!

REY!

He demands her to come...

Oh gods, no! He shouldn't! NO! Not like this...

He rushes to his sink. He drains it... fills it with water...

He could drown himself. At least his fate would be his own...

The Emperor of the fucking Order... drowns in a fucking sink!

WORTHLESS! Failure!

He smashes his fist across his mirror, shattering it... spraying the silver shards...

He steps... back. He sees a mosaic of...

It isn't himself...

It's Brendol.

Oh gods... He's EVERYWHERE!

"I'm sorry...!" Hux whimpers. His limbs tremble...

He hates apologies...

His own gloved hand comes over his throat. He thinks of Ben... 

Then he's crying out again... screaming for it to stop. Screaming for them to just... just KILL HIM, THEN! Just end it...

He finds his concealed knife... 

No... no, he doesn't want to! He doesn't...

He hides in the shadows. In the cupboard... like he was as a boy. His father's footsteps outside... he hides in the darkness, under his bed. A coward. Paper... thin...

He cries...

He can't plead for it to go away...

He's going to feel those giant hands around his throat... or he's going to feel that final shot. He's going to finally know what it's like...

The illusion of power he had...

The title of emperor...

He's so damn naive...

It's stifling. All of this... 

He looks disgusted, down at himself. His uniform. It's so false! A false armour! A false position.

It won't protect him when their claws arrive to rip him into pieces...

He cuts it off his limbs... tearing the fibres as he does it... choked with sobs. He kicks it off, flurrying to hide again. He's... he's naked! His father... his father will find him with no clothes!

He'll be beaten for weeks! 

He's going to be assassinated...

Naked.

He hides his face in his arms. Make it quick... then. Just make... please make it quick…

~

She's ready. She waits. Completing her training only to return to her chambers to wait. And wait.... And.... wait. 

Restless - she barely sleeps. Ready, any day for it to come through - word that she has cleared the training as agreed. The days tick by. Rey unapologetically scratches marks into the wall. 

It's been more than a week. 

The comm comes to life and she startles. 

REY!

He must be angry... For what? She can't think of anything she's done wrong. The doors are unlocked. A relief. Finally.

She stalks down the halls, prepared for a fight. She won't take no for an answer! Rey puts her palm to the door and it slides open after scanning her prints. 

The first step inside tips her off, something is wrong. The lights are too dim. The room reeks. Cigara smoke, stale alcohol, rotting food.... The room is in complete chaos. Her boot crunches on broken glass as she steps inside, the door sliding shut behind her. 

"H-Hux?" Rey calls, softly. The entire polar opposition of what she knows his room to be... And what greets her eyes... Torn clothing - an unmade, filthy bed. The stench of vomit. She wrinkles her nose. Has she gone.... To the wrong rooms?  
He whimpers. The footsteps... they're here. Brendol!

Death's come! Finally come... 

"What in the...?" She sighs. If this is some kind of stupid joke, she's not... Amused. He's a coward... hiding under the bed. Still... still a boy... his face is buried at his knees.

She moves inside, finding the bin. She pulls the bag from it, beginning to collect rubbish, dumping it inside. Cigarette ash, butts... The floor sticks under her boots.

"Hux?" She calls again, collecting glass bottles and dumping them into the bag.

He presses a hand to his lips as he cries. He doesn't... 

His eyes squeeze shut. He wants to scream... but he can't...

Things start to vanish from the floor. A rustling sound... 

He shakes his head, shrinking further into the darkness. Just a few more days... to live... please...

Rey fills the bag and settles it by the door. Maybe he's in the fresher... 

She makes her way over, she holds an arm over her nose and gags. Stars.... This is... disgusting! 

Hastily, she turns on the taps. Her face is scrunched into a grimace of disgust, having no choice, she gathers tissues to scoop the more solid... pieces out of the sink. She sends them down the toilet and leaves the water running. His quarters are absolutely trashed! 

What's he done? Where is he? 

She gives the surfaces a quick wipe down, desperate to clear the smell. She turns on the fan. She moves back to the bedroom. In the closets, maybe? She pulls them open, beginning to collect clothes from the floor. Items that are dirty, she shoves into the laundry chute, others, she finds herself straightening, shoving back into the closet, to get them off the floor.

The closet doors open... 

He makes a stifled, ragged sound. No... not there... no, he couldn't have withstood that... watching through the crack, like he used to. There were the sounds of running water...

It's a woman's voice... but he's too scared to see...

Is she alone? His hand gropes for his knife...

But... but he must have left it... elsewhere! How could he be so stupid?

He continues to cry, he tries to do it... do it in silence...

She closes the closet doors, another bundle of clothes shoved into the chute. She leans against the wall. This is ridiculous. Does he think she is to be his weapon and his maid? 

Rey moves back to the bathroom, satisfied that it's tidy enough. At least that acrid stench of stomach bile is gone. She clumps back to the main bedroom. 

"Come on..." She groans. The sheets smell bitter and sharp with the tang of sweat. She grabs them and pulls them free, into the laundry chute, too. 

Halfway through redressing the bed, she thinks she hears... A stifled sob... 

She moves, kneeling on the floor, leaning over, her cheek to the floor, looking under the b- 

"Armitage?" There's a form, curled up under the bed frame. Her brow furrows.

No... no he can't. He's not coming out...

He hears sounds he doesn't understand. Things being... cleared. Why? It doesn't make any difference...

He sees her shoes... on the floor next to his bed. He shakes his head, violently. She... she can't see him! No...! 

There's new things... he hears the mattress creak above him. Gods...!

Then her shape comes to kneel... 

NO, please!!! 

He turns away, hiding further.

He cries aloud... shaking his head. No... he's not even Armitage... just a dead bastard boy...

The form curls away... Sobbing, now... 

"Hux..." She reaches for him, wincing as she flattens herself to the filthy floor. What in the hells has happened? He blinks at her. Rey... not... not his father... not his father, not death...

"Armitage, take my hand..." She waves it gently at him. "Come on out..." She coaxes in as soft a voice as she can mange. Her mind cannot... wrap her head around it…

“Or I’ll come to you. Which would you like better?”

Come out, like a man... don't be a coward... PATHETIC! 

Armitage crawls towards her. He wears no gloves. He makes a sound of despair. He's not ready...

He gives her his blood stained hand, nonetheless. He crawls towards her.

"That's good, come on... A little further." She beckons, her fingers closing along his, gently as she helps him out from und- her cheeks flush scarlet. H-he's... His clothes… O-or lack thereof! She straightens, holding his hand still, leads him closer to the closet. She keeps her face straight ahead, drawing out a cloak to settle around his shoulders. 

"There we go..."

A little further.

Tears stream over his cheeks. His only friend... is his enemy. He sees her blush. He hangs his head. Just... disgraced.

She leads him to his clothes...

A cloak... 

He trembles, his eyes fixed on the floor, tears still rolling over his cheeks. His hands fist in the fabric... but he'll stain it!

His tears keep falling... He looks... Quite unwell. Filthy. Bruised... Cut.... A look of concern crosses her features. What's happened?! 

She links her fingers with his, drawing a deep breath. His hair is a mess, his face is overgrown with stubble... He winces. She touches where the skin is sore. The blaster was shot from his hand... 

She guides him to sit down on the closed toilet seat. She begins to draw a bath. 

"Armitage?" She queries, drawing tissues from their container, reaching to wipe at his tears. His face is dried. He takes in a hoarse breath. He nods... 

He at least recognises... that Armitage was his name...

He sits where she guides him, but winces at the sight... she missed some shards of mirror. He smashed a glass once...

In front of an officer...

A shame to waste... he should... should lick the drink up...

He remembers thinking of tasting broken glass. He turns his face away, still shivering.

He worries her... Someone attacked him... He isn't dead... But it means people are willing to question him. She could just walk away. He wouldn't be able to stop her... She looks at his face for a long moment before she takes a deep breath and turns to turn off the water. 

She pours soap into the hot water and begins to stir it with her hand, bubbles... She can't. She wants to. But she can't... She wants to turn her back, to leave now. But she needs him... For now... 

The bath... 

Drown? Will he drown? He remembers drowning...

So many different ways he's already died. It looks more comfortable... than that. Soapy and bubbly. 

"Okay, Emperor...." She takes both his hands to help steady him to step into the water before taking the cape so he can sit down. 

"Let's.... Get clean." She settles by the side of the tub, dipping the cloth into the water, wringing it out before lifting it gently to his shoulder. The wound she'd given him... She hangs her head for a moment before slowly beginning to clear grime and dried blood from his skin.

He hisses as he sits down. It stings! It stings...

He whimpers. He sees the cloth dip in the water. Will she smother him? Water...board him? 

He shakes his head.

"I don't want to die..." he whispers. "I don't want to..."

"Sssh, ssshhhh..." She tries to soothe.He winces. "No one is going to... To kill you." She whispers, she takes his hand, steadying his arm as she moves the fabric slowly down his arm, clearing away the grime. Yes they will... it's only a game of when...

She takes his hand. He wheezes in pain. His broken arm... he tried to... to re-align at some point... he wore a sling, for a while... but now...

"I'm right here..."

He looks to her... still terrified... 

"I'll try harder..." a plea.

He's sorry!

She realizes there's something really wrong with his arm. She lowers his arm carefully, leaning over to wash the other arm. 

"You're doing great... Look... Nearly..." She is not reaching down under that water... He shakes his head. Desperate.

"I can do better! I'm sorry..."

Just excuses... that his father used to sneer at. 

"Nearly there. Here you go..." She places the cloth in his good hand. "Just a little scrub."

He takes the cloth. He scrubs viciously at his skin. It all has to be gone! Every bit of dirt! All of it!!!

"Armitage..." She stills his hands, he's making his skin raw! He whimpers once more. He's doing it wrong! He hands his head.

"Armitage, stop... Please..." She pleads, her hand settling on the side of his face. Not to hit him. It's a caress. He stills. 

"S...sorry..."   
She tries to get him to focus on something else... To breathe, to work through this.... This strange... episode.... She watches him close his eyes. 

"Breathe with me... Just...." She leans her head in close. A deep breath in. He trembles. He takes in a deep, uneven breath. "And out..." She exhales slowly. Hux breathes out as a small sound of sorrow.   
"Just breathe…”

He nods. She wants him... to breathe? He closes his eyes. 

"I can be better..." he tells her, more softly... more calmly. "I can do better... be better..."

"You can, yes..." She agrees, breathing a few more times with him. His tears hit the still surface of the water.

"But you need to breathe, to... Tidy up a little." She whispers. Get him some rest... The dark smudges under his eyes. This is a mess... He sobs, but nods his agreement. It's all... so foul... 

"Gently," She reminds him. "This... Is important..." She pats the side of his arm softly. "You need to be careful, okay?"

He looks at her, blankly. He doesn't understand why it is important. He is nothing... just meat...  
He looks at her for a long moment, confused. Concerned, even. He takes the cloth again. He's slower... less violent, now. Just stroking… As soon as she's sure he isn't trying to skin himself with the washcloth, she turns to begin collecting the shards of the mirror, careful to put them in the bin, trying to avoid slicing her hands. 

"Why...?" He asks her. He has... nothing to lose. His precious order is already crumbling around him...

She drops a few more shards into the bin and draws a deep breath. 

"There are people counting on you.... The galaxy over which you currently preside... Needs you." Vysera will destroy everything that the order does not. Hux is... Perplexing and cold. Calculating and cruel but he isn't savage. He isn't beastly and terrifying like Vysera....

"The... people... hate me." Hux whispers. Everyone just wanted him to die from the start. He wasn't even meant to be born. 

Carefully, Rey rinses her hands, tiny pin pricks of blood on her palms. Delicate splinters of glass that she is careful and hasty to remove. 

She glances over, taking another cloth - it doesn't matter... Laundry can be done, these stores can be resupplied. She wipes his face carefully before gently tipping his head back. She uses the cloth to drizzle water into his hair. She reaches for some more soap, before she dampens his hair a little more, fingertips working his hair into a wig of foaming bubbles. She works at his scalp, massaging the shampoo into his red strands, her fingertips gently working at the knots.

As she wipes his face and he stares at nothing... his head is tipped back. He weeps... feeling vulnerable... like his throat might be slit. nHis hair... it's felt so dry and hot... and now it's... cooling off. Her fingers at his scalp. He swallows hard, blinking wearily.

"They don't." She tries to assure him. Most of them wouldn't even know him, she thinks - on the lower rungs of life, all they know is their daily life... 

"They want me to die." Hux tells her in another whisper as her hand lines his brow. 

"Ssh... That's ridiculous..." She chides, gently.

"I..." She puts her hand along his forehead, creating a barrier as she begins to rinse his hair, to keep the soap from running into his eyes. "I don't." She finally manages, believing it to be the truth, in essence... Even if she... Even if she is furious with him, bewildered... He blinks up at her. A glaze over his eyes. 

When she's satisfied with his hair being free of soap, she grabs a far larger, softer towel and motions for him to stand up. She manages to use the shower head to rinse him without... Looking... Too much. She's never... Seen a naked person in... Person, before... 

She clears her throat, offering her hand to help steady him on the way out of the tub before she pats him down, mostly, wrapping the towel around him and reaches past him to pull the plug in the tub. He watches all the grit... the bits... that come off him. Some dirt... blood. He is wrapped in a towel too soft for him. He watches it all drain... into the plughole.

"There you go..." She sits him down again. 

"You, just... You just relax there for a minute." She urges - shaving... and whatnot... will have to wait til he's sane enough to do it himself, she thinks. She rummages under the sink, finding a small brush and dustpan. She makes a hurried effort in the bedroom, to sweep up and of the remaining broken glass shards. How much did he have to drink?! 

She discards the rubbish and returns, searching in his drawers. He presses his palms to his eyes. He hurts... he was... is... so ready for, and yet so afraid of, death.

"Teeth." She orders gently, squeezing some paste onto the toothbrush and holds it out to him. 

"And then we'll get you a nice big cup of water..." She retreats to search the bedroom once more... Something here will work... She finds an overturned cup, looks at it and returns to the bathroom to rinse it out. She fills it, stepping to the side so he can finish scrubbing his teeth.

He tries not to attack his teeth... but he's still thorough. He hates that she has to watch. He hates that... that she's seen his body... like this. 

He spits down the sink and stares at... at nothing. The mirror is gone. 

He wipes his eyes.

"Rey..." a little rasp.

He...

Now that he's beginning to know sanity again... he...

He's so ashamed.

 

She comes back, handing him the cup of water. 

"Drink." She urges. Just... Pretend he's too drunk, again. Hydrate. Clean... Sleep it off...

He pauses... looking down at the water. He drinks it all nonetheless.

"You... you can go." He adds, softly, but shakily. "If you want... t... you can go..." he repeats.

His head still swims...

She stares at him. What? 

"With a ship?" She asks in a whisper, barely more than a breath.

He pauses. A long pause. Disappointment... his eyes lower. Still her captor...

"I..." 

If he's dead already...

"I meant you c... can leave this room, Rey..." he murmurs, his expression is one of dismay. That's what she thought... She looks at the cup, refilling and brings it with her, shutting off the light and drawing the door closed. 

Yet who is he to tell her she can't leave? That's all she wants... to return to precious Ren... 

His hand shakes on the cup. He wants to smash it...

He puts it down. He trips to his bed... his arm...

His broken fucking arm! 

It twinges...

He's lucky it hasn't caused more trouble. He cries out, trying to find a way to...

Gods! It HURTS!

He cries out. His arm... She sets the cup down and pulls open his closet once more. She doubts he'd do well to be out about the ship like this... To get to the medbay... 

She finds enough of what she needs, coming to sit on the bed next to him. 

"Hold still." She murmurs, beginning to wrap his arm, to bind it, to keep it steady. She ties a knot in the fabric and settles it over his shoulder. He grits his teeth so much that they ache. His lower lip trembles as she binds his arm... A sling... 

 

"Come on..." Carefully, she draws the blankets back from under him as she stands, gripping the towel and with a deft movement, she draws the damp towel away at the same time as settling him under the blankets. He gasps softly. He's still in pain he just... He hopes it won't be worse... 

He's under the blankets. 

"I knew you didn't mean it." Her voice is quiet. "I wasn't going to..." She adds.Not yet, anyway... Not until she knows she won't be chased down... 

She props the pillows, giving them a little fluff before gently pushing back on his shoulders.

He frowns at her.

"I can't stop you." He confesses. "Not like this..." His voice is shamefully thick. 

He's laid upon his pillows. His unblinking eyes scan her face.

"You're all I have." Hux whispers. The whisper is broken. 

She rummages in her pocket - her own stash of painkillers. A couple tablets - she uses them on the days she trains too hard... Which is... Everyday. 

"Here." She's aware that he stares at her. She hands him the cup. "Take these. Drink the rest." He looks down at the tablets. Luckily... He thinks he recognizes them. They're not poison... 

"What are these...?" He wants to check that she knows...

She looks at him. She meets his eyes. He knows she's sad for him, but would like not to be. The shared look comforts, but it's not to last... She continues tidying.

"Analgesics. With anti-inflammatory properties. I'm afraid they won't lend to drowsiness." She can't afford it in her training, to be slowed down. 

"That's what the bath was for." She says, a small smile. Her time with the resistance, however short... Had taken them to planets far flung. She remembers a night under the stars, soaking in the hot springs... It feels like an eternity ago.

He nods. She does know… His features ease. 

He takes them, without further question.

She looks at him, finally. She hates this ache. This sorrow. She's not entirely sure he deserves it but she... Wants him to. She wants him to be better...

She moves away from the bed, gathering more fallen and broken things. Tidying as she goes. 

"So.... What happened?" She asks, quietly.

His eyes come closed. His free hand bunches at the blankets.

"I was attacked." He mumbles, his voice still holding a slight tremor. "In the elevator after I left you..."

She pauses her cleaning, turning to look at him. Stars... That was days ago...

She draws closer, searching his face. He feels her come nearer and he blinks open his eyes, his pulse beginning to accelerate. 

"Do you know who?" she doubts it... All these helmets, these masks... It could be anyone...

She thinks she understands the beginning of this situation... An unravelling. He's shaken. Shaken and it's driven him... Backward.

He shakes his head.

"It happened fast." He whispers. "A coordinated attack." He swallows. "I barely escaped..." He tries to keep his breaths even. "I think... They're dead..."

But a couple might have escaped capture… They haven't pursued further... Since he's clearly been left here alone... For days...

She glances around the room. Cleaner than it had been... She opens the door just enough to put out the bag of trash. He watches her, anxiously. Then she closes the door and returns to the side of the bed.He's grateful when she returns to him.. 

"Well, you're not dead... Nor will you be for a great many years." She tries to assure him.The look he gives her is both doubtful and grateful.

"So that means..." She reaches forward, pushing back a damp strand of his hair that has curled forward onto his forehead. He leans, just slightly, into her touch. 

"You have to look after yourself. We'll go to the medbay in the morning. Together."

His lips part, relief and sorrow pulls at his heart. 

"Rey."

He reaches for her hand… His face is a silent apology. After a moment she takes his bare hand, looking to his face. His expression... He watches the twitch of her lips. That's enough, he thinks. His message has reached her. 

"Thank you..." He rasps...

The corners of her lips twitch upwards just barely.  
She wishes... That this could mean something. That this isn't just fear and fatigue...

She draws a deep breath and then sits down on the side of the bed. He dares to hope...

"You're welcome." she says softly, considering for a long moment. As illogical as it is, he doesn't think he can bare this night, or what remains of it, alone...

 

"Shove over." the bed is plenty big enough. It's late... If she is to escort him in the morning...

He tries not to let his expression betray further gratitude as he moves for her. He opens his blankets for her. He tries not to let himself wince because of the bruising over his stomach.

She unbuckles her boots and kicks them off. Glancing over her shoulder, he's lifted the blankets and her ears feel hot. He realises he's forgotten he's naked. He sees the heat in her face and he lowers the blanket, making room… He thinks of when he found her hair on Ren's pillow. 

No. She's not... Going to...

She leans over, clicking the light off before settling on top of the blankets.

Her clothes are filthy now but she's not about to start taking them off. The poor man is traumatised enough...

"Good night, Hux." She says softly, rolling onto her side so she can clearly see the door. A shield. Between him and the rest of the ship.

He inhales... Everything seems... More at peace. 

"Good night, Rey." He answers.

Usually, he would try to stay awake. But this time... She's here. She's here to defend him. He blinks, settling more easily. For once, he allows himself to close his eyes.

She tries to stay awake for as long as she can, curling up into a tight ball.

She regrets not grabbing a spare blanket but her decision to stay hadn't been entirely premeditated and she doesn't want to stir him from his slumber, now that his breaths have deepened and grown longer.

Sleep eventually comes for her and she is lost to oblivion.


End file.
